


Light Through the Blinds

by Medivha



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blind Character, Blindness, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 23:04:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2891405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medivha/pseuds/Medivha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Going blind, Naruto pretends he can still see so people won't treat him differently. But when his friend Sasuke puts the moves on him, Naruto's desperate to repair his eyesight. He never meant to fall for his doctor, Itachi, in the process. ItaNaru. SasuNaruSasu.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Language is Tactile

**Author's Note:**

> A pilot chapter for a new dramedy I was mulling about. Kind of testing, if people out there might be interested in this premise?

 

**.**

**.**

**.**

Clang,  _tlap_ , krat!

" _What is he doing?_ " whispers break out, like cackling flames.

Frantic hands mash the buttons. Six. Needs the sixth floor, yet the text's blurred.

Sheepishly he smiles, while the rest of his face flushes in heat. Panic raining in his fingertips as they quiver.

"Sorry—'bout that," Naruto murmurs, without turning.

"Great going. Now we'll stop on every floor."

That's when the glares behind him relentlessly drill into his back from everyone in the elevator. Hammering holes into his shirt, his neck, and bones. As humiliation beats down like little knives, he blinks rapidly to the loud thrums of his heartbeat, willing for clarity, yet the only clarity is through sound. Just a damned elevator ride,  _breathe_ , for hell's sake.

And he breathes. Shakily.

When a  _ding_  sounds, Naruto jolts out the opening doors. Bumps straight into an eager, awaiting body.

Never would he admit, how he recognizes Sasuke by the feeling of their collision. Dimensions fitting, the stiffness of their shoulders bumping, and the airs mingling—almost like a familiar scent of their usual heated exchanges. Feels this all like a warmth blanketing around him. And though he can't see but the outlines, Naruto looks up at the blurred face, as if he's soaking in the sight. He's not.

He can't see his own rival. Only feels.

"Oi, Sasuke," Naruto gripes breathlessly, ripping away, pointing an accusing finger, "You just don't hover by elevator doors. Basic manners!"

Not even a sound of acknowledgement. However he hears the low, smooth tone murmur softly.

"Speaking of manners, you better not be late tonight."

Words roll over like faint winds. Before he has a chance to react, Sasuke's blurry form disappears behind closing doors.

So, he's sweating. Beads of anxiety cooling and slithering down his temples. Because—because his circumstances…unable to see, even his own hand's fine lines, who'd want to go on a date like this? Who?

What would Sasuke even think of him then?

 

-.-.-

 

So after class, to fulfill a much necessary doctor's appointment, Naruto paves way into the heart of town.

Though, he sits on the wrong bus. And you're the only one he admits this to, he hates asking for directions.

After all, he thought he memorized the signs. Plus getting over the shock of riding a full fifteen stops in the opposite direction, was no easy task. Calls himself stupid, and unbelievable, but when hearing someone else utter the words…was like a sword cutting through his spine.

"What are you, illiterate?" says the bus driver, a condescending frail old man.

Besides the first seconds, wherein his heart plummets, Naruto felt in a word, furious—anger akin to demonic possession. In fact, if he hadn't been running late, and if the man weren't some gaunt, skeletal creature, he'd clobber some sense into the rude sap. He was going blind, not stupid.

But two hours on the clock tugs him out the bus like a hand. A mean, abrupt, hand. Mind screams  _late_ , god damned late, and Naruto rushes into the clinic like jet fuel exploding from the heels of his feet. He pats for the handles of the entrance, swings it wide open and throws himself onto the stage of the waiting room; because let's face it, with a room chock-full of insanely bored patients, everyone snaps their attentions onto him.

Panting haggardly from exhaustion, he leans over the front desk.

"Name?" asks one of the receptionists. Almost a robotic pitch.

Naruto grins, clutching the counter, willing himself steady. "Uzumaki Naruto," hears her shuffle papers, so he saves the hassle, "Listen, I have an appointment with Dr. Tsuna—"

"Oh. She already left. An hour ago."

No. Throat thickens. "But—but…I was supposed to pick up a prescription. Just eye drops, can't I?"

He sees the light of her form shift, as in exasperation. "You need the doctor's full approval and say. Schedule another appointment, and pick it up then."

"So is tomorrow alright?" he says quickly, "Tomorrow the same time as today?"

"I'm afraid that Dr. Tsunade has booked a trip. And she won't be in the office at least for another month…already have patients fully wedged in her schedule upon her return, too."

He can't see at all without the drops! They pour life into his eyes. Not that they're dead without 'em, just he never really understood the meaning ' _blind as a bat_ ' until he went two weeks without some medicine. Felt like walking on tight ropes, always threatening to fall hard into something or someone—people have begun to notice—and Sasuke. Tonight, Sasuke'll notice for sure.

Naruto squeezes his own temples, burning up in disbelief. "Really? You can't call her? It's just a paper, you know, if you can," voice crumbles because he sees her head shake.

"Listen, I don't have the authority to sign anything over to you. You and I need a doctor's signature. I'm sorry."

Understands perfectly, even agrees. But his body won't move. "What am I supposed to do? I can't…go without…" comes out in fragments, in erratic breaths.

"Well if it's an emergency, we have another ophthalmologist here. Dr. Uchiha has a booked schedule, but I'll ask him if he'll see you today," assures the receptionist, handing him a board to sign, "Sign your name under the query, while I inform him."

Dumbfounded, Naruto holds the clipboard. Staring. Doctor Uchiha…but he can't see the lines of the words, just a white blank sheet glowing under the fluorescents, and the feeling of solid wood. Rubs his fingers over the cool metallic clip, squinting down. Yet, he scarcely makes out the faint boxes, and he tries zooming into the name Uchiha, but only muddy, empty blurs meets his gaze.

_Sasuke has a doctor in the family?_

Could it be Sasuke's parents? An uncle? Grandfather? Maybe the name's coincidental.

He must've misheard, that's it.

So, Naruto signs his name right under the latest black smudge. Assumes he wrote in the next empty white box, because the receptionist tells him to wait in a seat.

Yet he's charged with doubt and fear, like an electric zap rousing his nerves to permanent attention. He paces around the antechamber in circles, again assuming the performer on stage, by now memorizing all four corners of the space enough not to hit the table, or bump into chairs. Everyone's shooting furtive glances, he feels their eyes scrape him with curiosity and—

"Uzumaki, Naruto?" calls out an attendant, holding files in one arm, and holding a door open in the other.

Two hours, waiting to hear his name—and now he feels his blood curl to climax.

He's led into the exam room. But walking through the halls, was like walking through a cave of judgment.

 _Sasuke'll find out_.

They won't be equals anymore. They won't  _be friends_. Because he'll be forced into special classrooms, and he's seen them in his nightmares. Sympathy in everyone's eyes, no longer considering him an equal functioning person—no, no, fuck, no. Pulse throbs in his neck. Should wait for Tsunade. Should leave and not come back, leave before his face's seen.

Runs clammy hands over his face and eyes, while he sits on the patient chair. Torn.

After the medical assistant takes his vitals, she leaves. But he hears her call out, "Itachi, two files here."

_Itachi…_

Never has Sasuke mentioned the name to him. And he sighs in relief, for maybe the last name, was a coincidence after all.

Soon after he finally breathes, the doctor enters.

 _Click_. The sound of the hinges locking in place. Space enclosing.

Looking hopelessly at the moving blur in a white coat, Naruto says, "I, uh, wanna say thanks for fitting me in as last minute."

That's when the tower of authority looms over him. Can hardly make out the details. And yet, through the fog… _they_  look the same. Blinking rapidly, he thought he's seen Sasuke, and so desperately wills the clarity to return. Widens his eyes too, but helps for shit, he can't fucking make out anything!

_Is it Sasuke?_

"Tell me what you need, Naruto," fills the deep voice, condensing heat into every space of doubt.

The baritone leaves a soft residue on his skin, causing goosebumps; a tone much unlike Sasuke's higher octaves.

Naruto drops his unfocused gaze, muttering, "To restock on the drops. Seeing blurs again."

Creaking of a stool, as Itachi mounts on it, glides up close. At once he smells a discerning, concerned air—and his brows furrow, because he never felt this before. Never in Tsunade's office.

"Think ya can help me, doc?" Naruto laughs nervously, especially when the silence persists.

A slender gloved finger hooks under the square of his jaw, and Naruto feels his head tip up. The touch transmits an electric interest: and he's getting desperate to see the other, how they appear, their physiognomy. With wavering and widening eyes, he looks up to the outline of the doctor's blurred face leaning to him.

"Stare ahead."

Startled, Naruto obeys. Even as a light passes dimly over each eye. He's not sure what's happening.

"Weak reflexes. Extremely slow uptake, and recovery. You're getting worse."

 _Straight to the point, huh_. Naruto's released from the gentle hold. "Worse, you mean—how worse?"

"Further tests should show the rate," says the other, "and according to your chart, you haven't run any tests except for primary screening. Now tell me, why is that?"

"I—I…" flushing, Naruto withdraws more into the seat.

"Results from the primary screening indicate first stages of serious illness. Potential permanent blindness in both eyes." The sound of pages flipping, carefully, and deliberately. "With pressure over twenty-two, above the normal range, we need to move onto testing and treatment immediately."

Heating more and more, Naruto clenches his fists. "I thought I had more time."

"Time for what?"

Naruto swallows, screwing these useless eyes shut. Was he supposed to actually admit? Was it appropriate? No. He couldn't explain how broke he is, how penniless he is, that he scarcely had the funds for the eye drops, let alone tests. He's sure this is the last thing a doctor wants to hear, a patient unable to pay for their service.

"I just don't think I need to do any tests now, that's it. Especially when the drops are helping me fine," he settles for.

That's when Itachi responds airily, "And the legal guardian you list here, has no input or say?"

"None at all. I'm eighteen now and I live alone."

A contemplative hum escapes the doctor, never breaking their proximity apart. Itachi, perched on the stool between his legs, reaches for him again. And Naruto bristles when his jaw's recaptured in the same latex clad hands. Sitting on even heights, Itachi still looms over anyway, ever taller and unwaveringly; and Naruto's enthralled by the veil, by the mist between them. Kind of drifting in virtual fog, he almost wants to blow the thick air away.

"Keep them open. Look up. Good," coaxes Itachi, "I'll quench your eyes for today."

And he stares up at the dull light overhead on the ceiling….barely making out the shadows. Drips, like tears fall into him. Pour into and wet the corners of his eyes. Naruto breathes, like he'd been held underwater, breathes like a gasp of life in eternal minutes of death. The burning wanes like minty tingles. And he blinks, his mouth parted still—for second by second, details materializes in his vision, popping out, sprouting from invisible buds.

Flowers of sight returning.

In that moment, Naruto lowers his head to thank. And he chokes back.

Itachi, he sees Itachi. Splotches of blurs chase to the edges, yet he sees for the first time the smoldering chestnuts—dainty brows flat and framing mirrors of concentrated intensity, perfectly knowing, gazing into him. The concerned air he smelled before like a perfume, now manifests poignantly in the fair body of the doctor. Nothing like Tsunade's panache aura, this was…

"Better?"

"Yeah. I mean—I…yeah thanks doc," he stammers pathetically, while the muscles in his neck tense.

Reaching into the pockets of his white coat, Itachi pulls out a pen and rolls over to the counter. "Two refills seems fair to me," he murmurs, "But I want to see you again, Naruto. Soon."

He hears the sound of gloves tearing off, and the sound of pen scratching against paper.

_Going blind…permanently…_

"A couple drops per eye," explains Itachi silkily, signing the note, "At most twice a day."

Forcing a grin, Naruto rips the ticket from the slender hands. "These drops are like liquid gold, thanks!"

"They're for temporary relief, do not forget," reminds Itachi, voice like assuring, soft music.

However, Naruto wrinkles both his nose and brow. "Relief's relief, as long as I can see. That's all that matters."

"Can prescribe glasses for now as well."

As if. Naruto scoffs, even flushing at the horrid image of becoming four-eyed. "No. Forget it. I don't think I got the face for that."

_Wouldn't be able to afford them anyway…_

But he won't mention this to Itachi, who leaves the room with the gait of calm winds.

 

-.-.-

 

Now he's got no excuse! With him actually seeing, boarding off the right bus, and he's running.

He's just never been to Sasuke's home before.

But the more he runs and the closer he gets, he loses momentum. Because every home he passes wears this somber face like he's passing a forest of frowning trees. Frowning,  _at him_. You know, the feeling of going to a party, and while you're dressed in ripped jeans, everyone's in a suit and gown? Sending ill looks and scowls. Because you should see the dump he's shacking in the outskirts of town, then look at the beauty of this community.

In a word, he doesn't belong.

And when he stands on an actual porch framed in mahogany, arms hang limp at his sides.

He's late, and what's worse, doubtful.

Sure, he reckoned Sasuke was wealthy—but when literally overshadowed by the height of the mansion, Naruto swallows the dread, the films of wet anxiety in his lungs he can't shake off.

Somehow, he knocks with enough force, loud and confident like a lion's roar.

" _It's open_ ," he hears Sasuke call from the inside.

When he steps into the foyer, Naruto's immediately lost. Three directions to turn to, all promising him Sasuke, and he's freezing in confusion. Like he's entered a hall of infinite doors, paths. And so to avoid looking terribly dumbfounded, Naruto wiggles out of his jacket and hangs it on the gilded coatrack.

That's when gentle tapping of footsteps sound.

"So you're late, what a surprise," deadpans Sasuke, blooming into his vision. Arms crossed, and leaning upon the frame of a wall.

Naruto feels his face collapse into a smile, practically bleeding from his heart.

"I see you've been counting the seconds," he jibes.

"Can I really help it?"

They stare at each other.

 _It's just a joke_ , supplies the unnerving silence. And Naruto bursts in explosive, forced laughter. "I probably should leave, hm? Didn't know you were the clingy type, ya bastard."

Instead of laughing with him, Sasuke narrows his dark eyes to slits.

"Your place," emphasizes Naruto, changing the subject, "I'm sure you got a planetarium upstairs, or something neat?"

For what felt like a long moment of considering, Sasuke finally scoffs. But makes no attempt to humor the topic, and Naruto rubs his neck in embarrassment, because really he should have known better. This planned meeting, he forced Sasuke into this; and forcing anyone into anything, gave little pleasure as much as it yields half-hearted success.

When Sasuke turns away, naturally he pads after. They enter and pass several rooms, before they stop dead center in a round kitchen.

The second Sasuke reaches for a knife on the marble counter, Naruto shouts raising his arms in outcry, "Woah put that down, Sasuke!" and his terrified, voice echoes from the walls, "You don't need to get so violent. We can talk things through—"

"Oi, moron, shut up," quips the other, even rolling his eyes.

Naruto keeps distance, unsure of what he's seeing. "What're you going to do? Only fair if I arm myself too, you know."

"It's called cooking," murmurs Sasuke, wielding the knife as emphasis (much to Naruto's chagrin), "and the real question is, are you going to make yourself useful? Or stand there talking stupidly?"

" _Eh_?"

Again, they stare into each other. Breezes of their energy striking in constructive waves.

"Well? Get over here to my side, and dice," demands the other.

Now, the winds between them gust. Curl. Pulled in, Naruto sways forward completely entranced, the spontaneity, one would think he's soaring through some galactic interstellar adventure. But really, he might as well have, for closing in the distance between them felt gravitationally right. Side by side, even if they were just hacking away at cucumbers.

Their shoulders bump, and Naruto tenses deeply. Just them grazing, like flitting seconds, their hips colliding briefly—

Why doesn't Sasuke move?

If Itachi hadn't fixed his eyes, he'd never get to see…Sasuke at his side. Wouldn't see Sasuke cutting deftly into a plump tomato, nor the fringes of hair matting against temples—making him wonder why Sasuke's sweating. Would have completely missed the way Sasuke's neck stretches, exposing a strip of tense muscle, and throbbing. Wouldn't see—

Pain splinters, in his fingers. Naruto sucks in a gasp, "Shit!"

"Naruto—you idiot, aren't you watching?"

 _Watching you_ …

Flushes in embarrassment, especially when the blood seeps and seeps out his thumb. Sets the wretched knife on the counter, and sighs miserably. Man, he's hopeless.

Sasuke takes him by the arm, and forces him to sit on a chair. "I'll get a bandage. Keep the towel and pressure."

"Fine," he huffs.

Feels so right, side by side with him. Always.

Naruto smiles, but with his free hand, squeezes his face in morbid doubt.

…and yet, they scarcely talk. But their collisions were in a word, everything.

They act on each other. With each other: jumped off bridges, off cliffs, dueled in chess, fencing, even run their student government, and in the summers, played in teams for volleyball on the beach. Every scene under the sun, in the moon light, swimming across lakes during marathons. This would be the damned collage he'd make in art class, if he could, except he never really bothered with projects.

Action, though, that's them.

Now, they're in the same damned freshman psychology class, like old times back when they were thirteen in high school.

Still, though they never really talk. And you think you build up privileges after some time, you know, work at a company loyally for years on end, get promoted someday. So he asked Sasuke, god damn, finally asked like one of those slighted, neglected employees.  _To talk_ , to know. They're childhood friends now, and they know nothing except the potential. Keeping each other at arm's length, far too long.

"Still alive?" comes the call, reverberating from the high ceilings, and rolling around like an alarm.

Naruto jolts, as Sasuke returns with an ace bandage and gauze. And even though his friend's expression is placid like air, the movements reveal something raw. Like a chest of treasures rolling up on shore, but before he could reach for it, is swept again away into sea. Veiled and drowned. As before he can place what it is, Sasuke snatches hold of his injured thumb.

"You cut yourself deeply. Great tactic to get out of cooking," remarks Sasuke, with biting scorn sharp like a hawk's claw.

"You think I did this on purpose?"

Sasuke only knots the bandage around. "Not the first time you've backed down from a challenge."

"What the hell, Sasuke!" he shoots up, "What in…what challenge are you talking about? Because I can cook, okay? For hell's sake I work at a restaurant, think by now I've picked up on kitchen etiquette!"

At this, a smirk flashes instantly. "You work? I didn't realize."

"Well not everyone's got a god damn place like this to their nam—"

Naruto trails off. Because Sasuke's expression collapses into a scowl, effectively garroting him from further speech. Almost he hears,  _this is why we're apart_. Shouldn't have commented so off-handedly. This is…why they don't talk.

"Just set the table."

Happy to move on, Naruto obliges. "Okay. Where are your plates and…" stops short when Sasuke points to a pantry by the tri-paneled windows.

Just as he walks over and reaches for the objects of his mission, he hears another instruction.

"Set three plates," adds Sasuke, tone remote.

"Just three?"

"My brother, you, and me. That's it."

Winded, Naruto scarcely keeps steady. "What about your parents?"

Sasuke's back appears unfazed, yet the words slice the air like a cold katana, "Dead."

They never talk, and now maybe this is why. Not like his own backstory was a fun topic, their pasts some morbid icing on the cake. A poison to blind, and look the other way. And as if two hefty loads drop over him, Naruto's shoulders sag. Or was it the frown overtaking him, slumping him forward in dread? Nonetheless, he sets the plates, the glasses, the silverware, even napkins.

Almost six in the evening.

And waiting for the oven timer to go off, they sit together like two bricks in a wall, meant to be aligned, he breathes. For the first time in a long while, actually soaking in quietude together. Through his pores, breathing in the moment because just this morning, he  _couldn't see_. And he's not sure how much more time's left.

Wouldn't have seen Sasuke forcing their gazes apart. Or how, nearly imperceptible apples of the throat bob up in a nervous swallow.

As if by instinct, Naruto reaches forward to reassure. "Sasuke, you—you okay?"

Stops in mid-speech, because Sasuke catches his wrist. Squeezing, painfully tight.

"Oi, you—"

"Why did you keep insisting we meet?"

Naruto freezes, especially as the grip transmits emphasis into his very bones. "We just never talk is all," he quickly defends, before giving a fruitless yank, "You wanted this too, stop being such an awkward kid!"

"Talk," echoes back the other, eyes narrowing, but the voice thickens to syrup, "talk about what? Us?"

"Yeah  _us_. Think it's not such a bad idea."

Like clouds parting, a ray of glinting light passes in Sasuke. Then the light concentrates into a wry smile.

"Well tell me, what kind of idea is it then?"

Testing. When Sasuke flicks a thumb over his wrist, grazing fingertips along his burning arm. Immediately Naruto shivers, as the tense muscle under the touch twitches in provocation. And yet, he remains wholly still. Torn. When Sasuke softens the vice grip, their hands melt into each other, their skin connects, deepening, pulling, he stays still.

Even when Sasuke tethers their palms into a tender loop. He sits, struck stupefied at the sensations. How their pulses parallel like two drums in sync, throbbing in unison, and he feels the soft touch like pale feathers entwined with his own calloused fingers.

And in that moment, Sasuke disconnects them. With such ease, it's almost frightening.

"So that's how it is," comes the soft murmur, pensive.

Without ever saying a word, somehow through the touch alone, answers exchange between them. But Naruto, under the heat of his flushing face, bolts up.

"What?" he demands, pulse racing to his throat because the influx of stirred feelings bear down like rain. "The hell are you even getting at?"

"I always thought you liked women," remarks Sasuke, almost to himself.

His expression sunders as if Sasuke fired a missile right between the eyes.

"I do. I do like women."

A cloud hovers over the dainty brow. "And what am I to you?"

"A friend," the words rip from the heart, instinct the way his tongue voices his spirit, "you're my best friend, Sasuke. We don't have to talk, I shouldn't have forced it. Just felt after all this time…"

Trails off because Sasuke stands up to even their heights. "A friend," he echoes robotically.

"Even though we started as rivals, you've become my best friend," confesses Naruto, rubbing his neck raw.

"And what's a friend, Naruto? What does 'friend' mean?"

The tone's entirely serious, not a speck of humor.

Space warps under Sasuke's confident, sharp movements. In a blink of an eye, two pale fists seizes his shoulders, reeling them close so their breaths add together into gusts of wind. Vivid storms. The air sways and in perspiration, cools—Naruto feels heavier, feels weightier, even his own eyes droop, and lower—to Sasuke's lips.

And failing the previous tests, Naruto fails this one too: when under the intense gravity, Sasuke falls into him, connecting their mouths.

In a flash, the two fists formerly on his shoulders, now entrench and nest into his hair. As if to keep them from dropping, as if pleading for a chance.

Stumbling back, Naruto feels the hard counter press into his spine. Bends like a tree branch, the way Sasuke pulls him with such force: one would think the man was hungry for this kiss, for years. And he presses clammy palms onto the jabbing wall behind him, screwing eyes shut. Tasting. Fresh air, and pure taste like clean water.

Warm tongue asks for entry, prodding and patting, and the desperation—feels this all: but the door's painfully sealed—like iron bars vaulting.

"Naruto," warns Sasuke, voice hoarse as if laden in deep sorrow, "let me in."

Their noses, and mingling hair bump and sway like they stand in a field of grass blown by wind, gentle evermore. Yet the rest of Naruto freezes in embarrassing stagnation, with the pain of his bleeding thumb acting as the only anchor of inhibition. Tremors of indecisiveness.

"We're both..." he's wanted to try...but...

"Both what?" dares Sasuke, breathing over their mouths, "Attracted to each other?"

First time's god damned nerve-wracking, his first kiss. And with another guy? What would Sasuke think, if he knew he was inexperienced, and practically out of his caste. He'd rather look cool and say he's—no he couldn't lie.

A whuff of confusion parts out his mouth.

And the action earns him a bite on the bottom of his lip. Naruto grunts as if he'd been punched: the attack on his lips, the fluid of heat spilling like simmering warm water, he's sure Sasuke feels his indecision. He's sure. About that, at least.

Especially when Sasuke loosens the violent grip, in favor of persuading in other ways.

Though fire and desperation wanes, Sasuke leans over again, this time with slick and smooth caresses. Falling into perfect alignment. Feels Sasuke's hands run through the thick and thin of his hair, stroking: questioning, comforting, and demanding, all at once. And at each calm sway apart, even putting a few inches between, his nerves grind in tortuous, agonizing anticipation. The way pale fingers, slender and perfect, hover teasingly along his brow, and frame his burning face...

...tightens and wrenches his breath painfully. 

And now Naruto's the one questioning, what Sasuke sees in him. A friend too? Or  _this_?

"Well? What happened to talking, dummy?" taunts Sasuke lowering his lips, threatening to kiss again.

Finally his eyes snap open. Afraid to meet blurs. To not  _see_. 

No words could describe the relief sweeping like a tornado, when Sasuke's dark eyes fills his vision, like two planets in a sky of clarity.

And he sighs. Knowing exactly how to disarm Sasuke, responds viscerally, "Just what is it with you." He then grabs hold of Sasuke's wrists, like whip chains. "I'm god damned injured right now, jerk."

They both glance at the triply, bandaged thumb. You'd think Sasuke taped a pillow to it, and yet, smidgens of blood soaks through.

However before either of them could cope with their sloppy entanglement, the door hinges creak loudly. Sounding as intense as sirens at night, flaring wildly in the field of their crime, and tearing the air obliquely.

 _Pad, dap_. Footsteps approaching.

Startled, both turn to face the newcomer. To this awfully, terribly humiliating scene. Of Sasuke against him, bending him backwards over the counter-top. God damn it, Naruto spasms in sudden ferocity, pushing them apart.

Though it was too late.

"Aniki—" he hears Sasuke put his defense, before the trial starts, "this—this is Naruto. And we were…we were fighting when you walked in."

Naruto's heart hangs out as for a nauseating moment, he sees upside down. Itachi. The doctor from today. He knew, he damned knew not to stay—should have waited for Tsunade—and when Sasuke mentioned a brother, he should have ran, but he didn't. And now…

 _That's it_. Itachi's going to say something now. About how sick, and ill, he is. And he wishes he was blind right now, not to see Sasuke's reaction. Sympathy, or disgust, at the sound of a hint of weakness.

"Ah, Naruto. Pleasure to finally meet you," is all Itachi says, offering obeisance, until turning away, "I have to go make a phone call regarding a grant proposal, and submit e-mails which could take some time. You eat without me, Sasuke."

"But Itachi—"

When Sasuke chases after his older brother, Itachi swivels round and plants two fingers like a dart. Dead center on Sasuke's forehead. The knockback was slow, and you could see Sasuke shiver to a stop.

"I can't, little brother. Not tonight. You have your friend Naruto anyway, and I won't disturb."

Pounding furiously like a dry funeral drum, Naruto almost couldn't hear over his heart. He's sure he's safe when he hears the footsteps ascend the stairs from a faint distance. He's safe, right? Patient confidentiality, right? But, they're  _brothers_. Brothers talked about everything.

 _Bading!_  Loud ringing of the oven timer goes off. And he watches Sasuke, who now walks with the air of someone who's lost the gold metal by a point. Walks with such disappointment, and grave frustration, Naruto wonders whether it was bravery or sheer fury prompting Sasuke to stick in bare hands into the fiery heat of the oven.

Sucks in a breath, long held, all's well for—

"If the bleeding doesn't stop soon," announces Sasuke, the moment they sit at the table again, "you'll need stitches."

The glass in his hand nearly falls to the table, almost spilling. "Go to the ER for this?" he puts up his hands in a universal gesture that says, 'no way', "Are you kidding me!"

Sasuke's profile glows with ill-suppressed concern, layered with exasperation of course. "That's right. You don't know."

"Know what?"

That's when Sasuke turns round to face him fully. After a short pause of considering, says, "My brother you just met, is a surgeon. He'd sew you up here and has all the equipment needed. No ER necessary."

"Ah...damn it." Now he's rocking nervously in his seat, the rambling's about to commence like a frantic melody. "What do you take me for? Over a little thing like this, really. You know this is nothing, you know that! Plus, that I'd burden your family—"

"Shut up," hisses Sasuke, teeth clacking as if hearing the tirade stings.

Nodding, in agreement, Naruto laughs nervously and defensively. He's got nothing to say, hell's sake. For once, really speechless. The situation here's not helping either, seeing as how Itachi's already helped him enough for one day. Now this is just embarrassing. Can feel himself turn deeply rubicund, crimson like the soaked bandages over his pulsing thumb.

"You're never a burden," whispers Sasuke at last, and the next words are scarcely audible, "Not to me."

With that, Sasuke abandons the dinner, standing up so quickly the chair stumbles in protest.

Naruto stiffens, glued to his seat. "Wait. Where—where are you going Sasuke?"

"To Itachi. Tell him you need help."

As if a bolt of lightning struck through the roof, Naruto freezes over.

That is, before he chases after Sasuke like a crazed animal, but it was no use. And in hindsight, he was bound to meet Itachi soon again. Just not this soon, and not in these circumstances.


	2. Personal Experiment

.

 .

.

.

Droning, in the distance. Professor lectures, robotically—and Naruto taps a pencil, moving it like a sundial…a few minutes more…

 

Whispers in his ear, Kiba's voice. "Dude, what happened to your hand?"

 

Naruto wiggles his thumb. Admiring the scar, an emblem of his awry date—and the tender care on Itachi's part.

 

"Cooking," he admits. "Just not my thing."

 

"That's right. Leave it to the wife," jokes Kiba.

 

At this, he imagines Sasuke in an apron, scowling. Sasuke cooking for him, already several times now. And tonight too. He flushes and joins Kiba in a fit of sniggering. Though his heart races, and the excitement rushes to his head. Because Kiba has no idea.

 

With an elbow jab, Kiba asks, "So that's why coach said you were out of commission. But you'll be back on the team soon?"

 

"Getting the stitches taken out today," he tells the other. "Tomorrow I'll be in for practice."

 

"Nice. We need you to make it to nationals. You're our best offense."

 

Without noticing the death glare of the professor, they continue ping-ponging their whispery conversation.

 

"You too, man," Naruto compliments in kind.

 

"Hate to admit this, but not without you. No one reads me on the court like you."

 

A smile bleeds from his lips. "I miss you too."

 

This earns him another friendly jab to his side. "So hurry up and get better man. And leave the housework to your girlfriend."

 

They snicker again, with impunity. For the professor ends the class then and there, and dozens of students rouse like a herd of stampeding buffalo. A race out the door, as after a handshaking goodbye, Kiba takes his leave darting up and out.

 

After packing his empty notebook, Naruto slings his bag over the shoulder and steals forward. Down the stadium aisles, with a growing appetite to hurry and meet his appointment. But as he jogs closer to the exit, his feet catch into a trap.

 

 _Bruum_.

 

Crashes to the cold floor. The universe topples, sky's the floor. Breaths catch. Fallen prostrate, and wincing, his fingers twitch, asking his body—how the hell he didn't see the trip-wire?

 

"My laptop," seethes a voice. "Pick it up."

 

Not a trip-wire. Someone's adapter, apparently. Naruto peels his face off the floor, feeling the dirt stick to him. And when he cracks his eyes open, meaningless blurs meet his periphery.

 

"Sorry about that," he apologizes.

 

"I said pick it up," comes the growl.

 

"Alright. Just hold on, will you?"

 

And in a fit, he searches the dark ocean of the floor, following the trails of the computer adapter. But the trail's a dead end, disconnected and severed. The clear tunnel of his vision, narrows. And he could have been an octopus with eight tentacles to put to good use, and still come up with nothing, he swears. Because he gropes at his sides and turns a full circle, still on the ground.

 

Where—where? And his fingers splay and hook, longing to catch the fish in this sea of undulating air.

 

"Well? What are you, blind?"

 

Blood roars in his ears. Hot sticks of red pokes at his cheeks, he feels rods of fire branding him from the inside. People, or a person, or anyone's watching this show—and now he's sure the laptop's camoflouged in color. And just when he's really about to melt into a sorry puddle, his needy fingers coil around cool plastic. Eureka.

 

Quickly, he stands and holds out laptop. "Take it, douchebag."

 

This must have infuriated the owner, who snatches it with ferocity.

 

"You'll pay for the damages, if I find any."

 

And when Naruto storms for the stairwell, he finds a seemingly empty corner to dock. He so desperately squeezes out several drops into both eyes; even as he hears Itachi's instructions, he needs so much more. Squeezes five or six drops in each eye. For anything less quenches nothing, and the balm lasts only for a few hours before he's needing more.

 

His eyesight's worsened these last two weeks.

 

He pants, hoarse and hot. How much longer could he pretend? People will start noticing. They already have. And Sasuke—

 

The whole bus ride, he shivers with resolution. And in signing his name in the queue, he clenches with determination. As he paces round the waiting area, whirling in new confidence. He's going to do the testing. As Itachi advised. He has to. The team, his friends, Sasuke: he'll lose them all.

 

"Uzumaki Naruto?" calls out the medical attendant.

 

As per routine, he follows her down the halls, just as before. Shaking in restrained excitement. She records his vitals, and he waits.

 

Trembling, at this determination flowing in his veins; the waves of invincibility pulses and blocks his doubts, bunging them into a sealed well. If he just follows Itachi's counsel…do the tests, start treatment…

 

"Naruto."

 

Jumping a mile out his chair, Naruto scarcely recovers his breath.

 

"Oh hey doc, it's been a while."

 

Itachi shuts the door behind, reading through a file. "It has. Two weeks."

 

"Thanks for fixing me up. And—for writing me a note to my basketball coach."

 

He shivers when Itachi finally looks up from the folder. Probing, smoldering gaze.

 

"You plan to rejoin your team again?"

 

"Of course. I won't just quit!"

 

A faint smile shimmers across Itachi. A soft sheen under the strict light, almost imperceptible. And immediately Naruto's drawn in, leaning on the edge of the patient chair.

 

As per habit, he rubs his neck. "Itachi, I—I also need to ask you…"

 

Seeing the elegant brows quirk in curiosity, Naruto glances away in embarrassment.

 

"Thing is, I haven't told Sasuke. I don't think I need to, even, y'know?"

 

Guarding steadily, Itachi remains steadfastly quiet. An impenetrable, unerringly diplomatic enigma.

 

Taking this cue, Naruto continues in a thick voice, "I mean, you haven't said anything, have you?"

 

And when silence creeps and eats his flesh, Naruto snaps his gaze back, searching.

 

"No, Naruto, I have not told my little brother. Was that really a concern of yours?"

 

An experience, almost surreal, to feel wholly entranced by someone's voice. His best friend's brother: some kind of source of everlasting assurance, and just a taste of its mesmerizing effects, a sip of this tranquil air, has him craving to hear more.

 

"Come on, doc. Concerned? Me?" He flashes a toothy grin. "No. Definitely not! Just don't want people worrying over some passing phase, y'know?"

 

Upon setting the files aside, Itachi steals forward.

 

"So your eyesight's improved?"

 

Bristling, Naruto strains to keep still, especially as the other towers over him. He vaguely recalls the resolution he made just minutes ago—to start the testing. But it wasn't until he's sitting in the spotlight, and the words hover at the tip of his tongue, that he realizes how stupid he'd sound. Embarrassment worse than when he crawled on the floor, for the laptop.

 

He couldn't afford any treatment, any support. Why would he even bother?

 

"Oh a lot, it's a miracle. I don't even need the drops anymore," he lies effortlessly. "I told ya. This was all from too much roughhousing, or lack of sleep or something."

 

In that instant, a cloud hovers over Itachi's expression.

 

"Some miracle, indeed."

 

Naruto swallows, glancing nervously away. "Yeah. Lucky."

 

After Itachi removes the stitches, a precise, sterile, yet swift procedure, Naruto shoots to his feet. The final vestiges of the horrific embarrassments he endured, gone. Only the scar of it remains branded.

 

Stretching out his muscles in mock confidence, Naruto turns away. "Thanks doc. I won't snag any more of your time."

 

"Just one moment."

 

Freezing, he glances over his shoulder.

 

"I have one more patient," says Itachi. "If you wait for me, I'd like to show you something."

 

Feels so ridiculous, he couldn't restrain the fathom-wide grin.

 

"Well sure. I love surprises. I'll wait, definitely."

 

A wry half-smile passes over Itachi, snapping off the gloves and moving past.

 

"Good. You'll find I'm full of them."

 

Naruto blinks before chasing after, only for the doctor to have vanished into another examination room.

 

Scratching his cheek in contemplation, he kicks forward into the waiting room in complete wonder. A little anxiety, sure; after all, what if Itachi didn't buy his lie? What if Itachi would stop him from joining back the team? Although as silly as that sounded, Naruto huffs out an anxious sigh.

 

And just as he picks up a sport's magazine off the stand, his phone's vibrating. Flipping his phone, Naruto reads a text. From Sasuke.

 

"Did my brother take care of you?" it reads.

 

For a second, he forgets about the stitches. Panic rains over him, how would Sasuke—only for normalcy to return the next second, because the scar reminds. As soon as he sends a response, another text fires up his phone.

 

"What are you doing on Saturday? Let's climb the Redridge."

 

The idea sounds so fantastic, so inspiring, Naruto obliges instantly. "Whoever reaches the peak first pays for dinner," he types back.

 

They volley several inside jokes, but the challenge's set. And as he's tucking in his phone, a voice behind him sounds. Or three, actually.

 

"See you tomorrow, Dr. Uchiha!"

 

The three secretaries nearly cling at Itachi's coattails, as he makes away from them. And instead of Sasuke's typical snub of a cold scoff, Itachi's eyes crescent in a pleasant smile, waving at them.

 

Naruto comments under his breath. "You're really different than him."

 

He hadn't meant for the other to hear, but Itachi takes his hand and leads them out the clinic, with an entertained quirk of the brow.

 

"How so?"

 

Admittedly, clever. Really clever. Naruto almost didn't notice his hand's being held. Unlike Sasuke, a bit socially awkward, you'd feel your own skin and bones with whom such a gesture would be jolting—but now, with Itachi, Naruto swears if he was just a little bit more blind, he wouldn't even realize.

 

Holding his breath, Naruto glances up to meet the striking scrutiny. The fact he has to crane up his neck, made him feel smaller. He felt like an apple scattered beneath this majestic tree. And he straightens up his posture as much as possible, to try to equal their heights…to no avail. Nevertheless, he stands erect shoulders back, chin up, to which Itachi sends him an amused look.

 

"Well—I…it's nothing." And upon seeing Itachi's amusement grow, Naruto adds, "I mean, I don't know why I thought you'd be the same anyway."

 

What's worse, he craves to keep the connection open. Instinct, pleads from within, intoxicating his muscles into relaxing, letting Itachi's fingers coil around his own. This way he won't trip over another sneaky wire, or bump into a wall, or fall into another ditch—he keeps falling—and this one time, just once, he'll lean on someone.

 

"Why? Perhaps because the human mind naturally tends to assimilate new—even exotic—stimulations to our past experiences," explains Itachi, in a neutral tone. Deceivingly plain. "You would even make better sense of me, using your experience with Sasuke."

 

'Exotic stimulations'. Is what he hears only. Naruto nods, vaguely hearing a part of him snigger.

 

Wait, hold on.

 

"Stop right there!” Naruto blunders, only to feel his hand clasped tighter. “What kind of 'experience' with Sasuke?"

 

"All. I mean all."

 

Jumping away, Naruto practically dances in denial. "Eh? What you saw—what you saw that day…I swear—wait, what exactly does 'all' mean? And come to think of it…exotic?"

 

Their hands slipped apart, and he feels Itachi pat his shoulders in confidence.

 

"Let's forget what I saw, or what you think I saw. Seeing is only half the business."

 

An opportunity for a clean slate, who wouldn't take up such an offer?

 

"Sure," his voice tremors with lame agreement. "I guess." He wishes.

 

Whuffing out a nervous breath, he spins away to cool off the steam; for Sasuke's older brother to even hint that there was 'exotic, 'experiences' with—he stomps forth with sudden energy, shaking his head. He and Sasuke agreed they'd keep this all on the down low. Their little affairs, or love trysts, lingers in the infamous experimental, testing stage. So why the hell would Sasuke mention! And they're both guys, for cripes sakes, if any of this spreads...if his teammates found out...

 

However without Itachi to guide him, he knocks into innocent passerby; and he apologizes profusely to the lady who he's knocked down, helping them up. Only to be knocked down himself in the process by a person swerving at him from behind: really how two cars crash, and other incoming cars swerve to avoid, but inevitably add to the pile. So now he's a helpless heap on the pavement with this poor old woman, who's lifted up with someone's help.

 

Then he feels Itachi's deft hands pull him to a stand without hesitation, with strong purpose.

 

"Are you alright?"

 

Freezing. Nothing, this was nothing, compared to falling into potholes, because those traps really slip his sight.

 

"Course I'm alright," he waves.

 

However the grip on his shoulder's glued. Itachi never lets go. In fact, he's manhandled down the block, and it was a fun ride, actually. He laughs the whole way. The second they cross into a garage, the ambiance changes. The stage darkens. Blurs. Ceiling's out of sight, the shades of grey, the lights dimming and narrowing, the floors stretching.

 

"My little brother invited you for dinner, hasn't he?"

 

Voice echoes, bounces. Reverb's high, and enthralling. He could hear the intonations like cadences of a curious melody…a live concert, and who is he to disturb it? So he nods only, and the whole time Itachi practically wheels him to the car, a fair, but modest vehicle, whose pretty curves Naruto could pet with affection.

 

Headlights wink at them at the command of a remote.

 

"Well I'll drive you, under a single condition."

 

Afraid of nothing, Naruto whirls to face the flashing gaze. "Oh yeah?"

 

"Accompany me on a side trip."

 

"A trip, I love tri—wait, really?" He scratches at his neck, searching for the right words. "But why take me?"

 

"You'll see."

 

The doors open invitingly, and Naruto doesn't need to be asked twice, he plops right inside. When they're both boxed in, the quiet from the barren garage amplifies. Until Itachi reaches over for the glove compartment.

 

The leather case which is unsheathed catches his interest.

 

"I hope you don't mind." Itachi tells him. "A personal experiment of mine."

 

Experiment? Naruto perks up, twitching with curiosity, especially when it's opened.

 

The next moment is one heat-filled distortion. Itachi leans over to him, so they share the same breath. In unison bathing in the constructive melody of their exhales, Naruto feels a tremor up his spine. Sputtering, he asks what's the big idea? Under erratic pants, he feels a sweat break out in three seconds flat. The whole world in the periphery fades into static. Gravity's weakened, and he's lighter than ever.

 

Until Itachi raises up a pair of glasses. Carefully fitting them onto Naruto's burning face.

 

"Your first tests indicated this would be the strength compatible."

 

Naruto's fingers shoot up to touch the frames around his own eyes. Patting them with disbelief.

 

However, Itachi preserves their proximity, perhaps leaning closer.

 

"And I wanted to see for myself, if you had the face for them or not."

 

Naruto feels his eyes widen, and he flushes terribly. "That's the so called experiment?"

 

"I'd conclude my hypothesis tests positively."

 

Through these lens, he sees every pixel he before couldn't. And the faint smile in the other. And…and the lips, perfect and so close to his own. Radiating at him, with acceptance—unconditional acceptance. He fixates at the light, deep, and drops in mortification—heart hammering. And when Itachi pulls back, the intensity of this warmth recedes. But he couldn’t tear away from the view.

 

He regains his composure, vaguely running his fingers over the frames round his eyes.

 

"You mean I look good?" he asks, heart still throbbing in his throat.

 

Itachi rolls down a mirror. "Check for yourself. Though, I have to say you appear remarkably smarter."

 

Ironically, the first thing he notices in his reflection wasn't the ridiculous four-eyed look. But the flaring red of his cheeks like fields of poppy flowers burgeoning, as if he ran for miles, so desperate for rest and fulfilment and…

 

Naruto clamps the mirror shut. "That's what you wanted to show me? No way in hell—" He angles a sharp look at the doctor. "Will I go out in public looking like some googly-eyed dork. You're wrong, I don't have the face."

 

"In comparison to walking blind, wouldn't you choose to swallow some pride?"

 

"But I can see, though. You really don't believe me?"

 

Shimmers of a smile flits across Itachi as he shifts the car into life.

 

"Give the glasses a chance, Naruto."

 

"Have you seen any athletes play games with these on?" he rants. "I might as well write a sign on my forehead saying I'm an open target just aim for my head—"

 

"Of course not. On the court, you'd opt for goggles."

 

Naruto spreads his arms, as if trying to catch the perfect counter. But none comes, and so he crosses them and kicks back in the seat. Goggles didn't sound so bad. Yet still, echoing like an after image, is the portrait of him, wearing these spectacles, admitting and showing to the world his weakness—it was an awful weakness. That came too suddenly.

 

And the light of acceptance from Itachi, sparks hope in him.

 

"Itachi, do you think," he rasps out, keeping his eyes out the window. "Do you think Sasuke—would feel the same as you?"

 

"You said it yourself, he and I aren't the same."

 

Bristling, he turns a strained gaze to Itachi who spares not a glance. And he feels homeless, almost right then and there. He's not sure why, just the thought makes him crazily depressed. Naruto raps his fingers against the pane.

 

Plays casual even, despite the frown climbing to his lips. "That was just a 'what-if' question anyway. I can see just as before, like I told you."

 

"If that were the case, you would have cringed the very moment I put those glasses on you." A pause. "Instead, you're handling its intensity rather well."

 

His heart skips a beat.

 

"Which means," continues Itachi, "your eyesight's worsened. Considerably."

 

So that's what this was really about. He massages his own face from sheer passion, overwhelming him in this moment because, why Sasuke's brother of all people would give a damn. Felt unorthodox as he had nobody, hasn't the experience of someone delving into his wellbeing; and the confusion tickles him in a funny way, roiling at his joints, and he fidgets to regain balance.

 

And he's asking the question when they park on a rural hill. When they're cut off from the luxury of street lamps, where the only source of light is the striking bars of dusk's sun.

 

"Why are we here?"

 

In the distance, in the taut horizon behind them, the only vestiges of urban life rose as a tower. Several of them.

 

Following his trail of vision, Itachi remarks off-handedly. "That would be my old university. We're about thirty minutes away."

 

Naruto rips from the view to ask again, only to find Itachi trailing away in the opposite direction.

 

"Hey, wait up!" he follows after.

 

Soon as he catches up, their strides synchronize. Step. Together. By step. Wading through the grass, up to his damned knees, he refuses to fall behind. And as their arms swing, in the perfect moment, Itachi clasps their hands. Automatic. Adroit, perfectly fitting.

 

"I forget, you don't need it anymore," says Itachi, who releases almost immediately after.

 

And Naruto freezes over. Absently feeling over the frames again, only now, really, truly now realizing why Itachi had taken his hand in the first place. To veer him steady. Because Itachi knows, regardless what he says, that he couldn't see well. And how ridiculous for him to believe otherwise, how strange for his instincts to assume the gesture would have meant more.

 

"Lagging behind, Naruto?"

 

Itachi smiles—deceivingly vanilla—over his shoulder, especially when meeting Naruto's lion-hearted scowl.

 

"Just letting you lead."

 

"As you should."

 

That caught him by surprise. But Itachi being Sasuke's brother, perhaps it wasn't so very astounding for them to equally press his fatal weakness.

 

Rebounding, Naruto bursts forth, trailing down the jagged descent, of dun rocks, following Itachi's general direction. Because of course he leaps ahead. Until closer and closer, the sounds of running water amplify, up when they reach a clearing. Clearing, though would be insufficient. The place was virtual reality, a snapshot of a dream,

 

The running creek reflects at least five shades of red. Orange gleams, like the color of his jacket, and the rocks flanking the running river…dipped in violet hues…and the scent greeting him, of lavender, of pine. Transfixed, he stands in the midst of this view…in complete admiration.

 

Only to then feel confusion rain upon him, the confusion from before, couldn't be quelled by the beauty of this sight.

 

He turns to Itachi, or where he thought the other would be, but the man's nowhere. Abandoned? Stranded.

 

"Here, I'm here."

 

Snaps up, to see Itachi sitting, with his back leaning on a trunk, across the river. One knee propped up and flexed to the chest, while the other's flat on the earthy soil. In fact, Itachi appears tranquil, and a tad bit bored.

 

"How'd you get over there, huh?" demands Naruto, flourishing a fist.

 

Head tipping up graciously, Itachi's eyes gleam in emboldening amusement.

 

"Wouldn't you like to figure out on your own?"

 

He's on it. You should have seen him then. Practically sniffing for a secret, hidden trail. Just to show Itachi he could figure out anything he put his mind to. And madly, searches and checks, east, west, north, for a path. There wasn't any. Except one.

 

Next thing he knows, he's throwing himself into the river. Making the big sacrifice. The impulse to win overrides sense, and he really shouldn't have leapt in like a bomber. Splashes explode, the surface breaking. But to his shocking discovery, the water's shallow as a few feet. He feels the floor, water scarcely reaching up to his knees.

 

Why the hell did he think he'd be diving into a seven foot pool?

 

"Sometimes our eyes deceive," answers Itachi, as if hearing his thoughts. "Only seeing the surface, without perceiving its depth."

 

Well he perceived awfully wrong. And treading across, Naruto plops beside the other. Huffing. In with the pine air, then soon a cool breeze dissolves his adrenaline induced heat.

 

"Mind sharing the wall?" he asks, pointing to the trunk.

 

Hospitality's offered as Itachi scoots a little. And they lean shoulder to shoulder, sharing the uneven wall, ragged but earthy and assuring.

 

"So I guess that's the other half of the business," prompts Naruto. "I get what you mean now. Seeing and perceiving, right?"

 

But the bored look in Itachi maintains, and…it scrapes Naruto, chafes his grin away. As a matter of fact, he feels hurt by the indifference, as if he's hauntingly abandoned.

 

"What? I'm wrong?"

 

"Wrong, right, it doesn't matter."

 

"Then?"

 

Some light dances across, before swiftly hidden by a veil of overhead trees. Canopy aflutter at the wind, rustling sounds like whispery gossip.

 

“Let me treat you, Naruto.”

 

He strains to stare ahead into the glimmering water. He could see through the lens, the lights of it all. And he inclines his head back purposefully, to blur the view. But it wouldn’t blur. He was fine.

 

"But this present’s working just swell.” Though he’s cringing at his own words. “And I mean it, Itachi. You’re an ace…I don’t think anyone’s looked out for me like you have.”

 

“You really won’t tell Sasuke?”

 

Naruto rubs at his nose. “This isn’t—it’s not a big deal. I’ll overcome this, I swear. He doesn’t need to know.”

 

“Then at least confide in me.”

 

Breath hitches when a smile's flashed his way. So warm, his hair raises, like he's sitting by a hearth or furnace. Suddenly, the feeling of their shoulders touching, is a conduit of sparks, trains of them. He feels welcomed. The spotlight burning him in the office, vanishes. The burns of pressure, of mortifying heat, fades.

 

“Thanks. I mean it. But I wouldn’t want to burden you anymore.”

 

And when Itachi raises a hand, he thinks he'll get poked just like Sasuke.

 

But his hair's ruffled instead.

 

"You’re not a burden. I'm glad you joined me, thank you."

 

Though his brows tremble, Naruto unconsciously leans into the caress. The warmth seeps into his blood, and he flushes.

 

“Say, you come here often, don’t you?” he asks.

 

Itachi retracts the touch.

 

"Every month I visit. Usually alone."

 

"Why here though? I mean…it's nice and all, but—" he trails off, especially seeing Itachi look away.

 

"In memory of a friend."

 

Naruto stiffens. Especially at the glaze of distance, how a fog passes over the other.

 

However, as if the remote expression never existed, Itachi returns with vigor.

 

"You remind me of him."

 

Naruto flares with surprise. "So he's a cool guy then! Handsome, right? Probably incredibly smart, and fantastic at sports!"

 

Laughing lightly, Itachi awards him with another ruffle at the hair.

 

"It's more subtle than that.”

 

Trees collapsing, or his heart. Naruto would check, but he leans in to catch the next words; the climax to the drums of nature surrounding them. Only for an unreal interruption to slice the distinct momentum.

 

Because in the worst timing, a cell phone goes off. It was Itachi's.

 

"About a half hour more, Sasuke." Itachi rises up, already turning, speaking into the mic. "I had Naruto wait for me…we'll be there soon."

 

Then after the call's hung up, they tread across the river, clamber up the rocky path yonder the hill…Naruto feels his hands twitch with this need, to have Itachi's hand in his. And he feels a hole, widening, and gaping.  He feels himself longing for the same acceptance Itachi offers, from Sasuke too. Frowns even though he's forcing the corners of his mouth with all his might…to stay up, to not fall under the pain.

 

.

 

-o-

 

.

 

The moment they pull up into the driveway, Naruto catches sight of a familiar silhouette waiting on the porch. And it was a great thing he did, because he quickly unequips his glasses, shoving them into his coat pockets unkindly. He earns a frown from Itachi.

 

Feathers on end, Sasuke stands like a sentinel on duty, pacing with uncharacteristic anxiety, as if impending doomsday news awaits. So when Naruto and Itachi stand over the steps, they're rained with a brief interrogation before allowed to pass.

 

"Is everything alright?”

 

“I took Naruto with me to visit.”

 

“Really?” breathes Sasuke, genuinely astounded. “Why didn't you tell me? I would have met you two.”

 

"Next time little brother."

 

The peaceful undertone beneath Itachi's words, was impossible to dispute.

 

And the winds from the beautiful clearing followed them here, sweeping and whistling in between the three of them. Without the glasses or another abusive session with the drops, Naruto could scarcely make out anything in this darkness.

 

Itachi makes a noncommittal noise, slips past, and leaves them behind.

 

Hears Itachi's steps fade, and naturally he pads after, only tripping over the last step, which felt like tripping over a goddamned boulder. However, he never meets the floor. Saved.

 

Catching him by the shoulders, Sasuke sets him aright. Though, without letting go. Protective.

 

"Watch it, moron."

 

He's about to shove Sasuke off, only to be seized. Captured by the lips, and the grip on his shoulders writes desperation into his very bones. Diving, together. Into a depth, an ocean, and Sasuke holds him and he holds back, everything else is muffled—submerged in water. Can't breathe. He clambers up, only for Sasuke to keep him under.

 

Gasping, for words.

 

"Holy hell—your brother's gonna—"

 

“Fine. We’re fine.”

 

And fueled at the separation, Sasuke reclaims his mouth, hungry noises erupting one after the other, like a congress of instincts…possessing. Inhabiting and transmitting, and the scent of Sasuke's familiar musk, he naturally leans into the portal, for some of the passion, he hopes to sip like a poison and be equally possessed. Pressing his lips into Sasuke's chapped, nerve wrought ones, melding with his in the intense boil.

 

Yet, the sips, tastes, none of it patches this widening hole, gaping at his sternum. He tears back, clutching at the void, feeling air vacuumed away. He ought to tell Sasuke, and let the light of acceptance fix this nagging, sucking wound. Squeezes a fistful of his chest, at the pained melody of his heart.

 

Sasuke misinterprets the gesture as a 'that was mind-blowing'.

 

"Spend the night, will you?"

 

 


	3. Waterfall

.

.

.

 

Dreaming. Blurs everywhere, meaningless and still assaulting. It was like his vision’s saddled on 'buffering' and any second he'll see in clarity, any second now...but...

 

"Come on, dummy," calls Sasuke.

 

You’re the only one he admits this to, he can’t see anymore. And the roughhousing, and abuse on those drops—nothing good came out of that. Deep down, a part of him’s clawing for the glasses; except Itachi’s close by, and the idea Sasuke would crucify him before an audience sends an unpleasant shiver down his spine.

 

He congratulates himself for climbing the stairs with finesse, though. Not tripping like a goddamned idiot. But to be fair he's cheating, grabbing the rails like an old senile person and when he gets to the top, he really stands torn. Scratching the back of his damp neck, he carries a torch, the way he’s sticking arms out like feelers. Jumping in like a mad bomber, not just the lake, but into Sasuke's room. A depth Itachi warned him of, in retrospect, not to misjudge.

 

Because scarcely has he passed over the threshold, he's pinned to a wall. Seized by the shoulders, Sasuke’s virile amplitude burns flesh.

 

"What is with you?" demands his friend.

 

Instinct urges to rub his eyes, but movement's a little impeached. Naruto squirms a little.

 

"Huh?” He blinks for effect. “I'm fine."

 

Sasuke makes a sucking noise, in frustration.

 

"You keep tripping," angles the sharp remark, lips hovering in a near kiss. "You were hanging onto the railings. Falling over something flat too, like the living room rug. Tripped right into my brother—”

 

“—jumped in my way, alright?”

 

He can  _feel_  Sasuke deadpan, the air’s turning stale.  And in an anxious fizzle, Naruto rubs his hands, warming to a new topic, feeling its friction.

 

“About your brother, can I ask? I mean he mentioned—”

 

“What…are you on about…”

 

“—a friend from University. Said I reminded him of…do you know this friend’s name? Just wondering—”

 

 “Shisui…was a friend of the family but mostly Itachi’s—”

 

“... _was..._ ”

 

As if the topic unnerves, Sasuke launches, “When I say  _was_ , I mean he’s dead. Where do you think my brother took you?”

 

“I…I’m sorry. I wanted to know more about the guy like how—”

 

“Suicide—”

 

“—old he was?”

 

They used to be excellent in finishing each other’s sentences. But now, the transmission signals are jammed. Scarcely even on the same wavelength.

 

“He was our age. I don’t know. Are we done?”

 

Can’t feel his arms, they dangle like taut wires at his sides. Suicide? He blinks, unsure of what expression’s possessing him in this moment—but it can’t be good. He’s supposed to be…similar to this Shisui? And as if he’s chewing on dirt, he winces as a foul aroma lingers. No. No way, absolutely not.

 

What’s worse, the drawn out pause’s getting too out of control. His ears perk up to catch any hint of reaction. He's startled when an explosive sigh blows from Sasuke, filling their sails to full expansion. Feels a turbulence. Their closeness vibrating, he sees his friend's silhouette, darting forward and back, then forward again. But why? Whops him into rattling confusion.

 

He reaches forward to quell the energy….what’s Sasuke doing?

 

“Oi Sasuke, listen. Thanks for having me over, dinner was good. But maybe I oughta head home. Got practice in the morning, y’hear? Hey!"

 

The silence screams. Screams so painfully, ringing in his ears. He almost pleads for it to end. Until Sasuke reels them together again, and their lips graze once more with every cadence of speech. Awakening: how needles of heat transmit, and he melts at the contact.

 

Just as he puckers his lips, Sasuke cuts with an obtuse, seemingly random question.

 

"Well? What do you think?”

 

Naruto furrows his brow; yet like a spell he drifts forward, docking the teasing touch.

 

"I don't know?” Blinking, he withdraws the near kiss. “What's your angle?"

 

"No angle. Just look, I'm pointing it to you."

 

"Oh?"

 

Naruto forces calm and cool but in a sea of these blurs, poor resolution, he's not sure what he's really looking at. Bets his eyes look so glazed because no matter how wide and open, he perceives everything through a frosted glass window. Except, he feels a mouth hovering over his own and…

 

When his friend pulls back, pale horizons bloom into his sights: more and more's revealed and exposed. An eruption swallows the center field of his vision, and Naruto squints. All he could do is swat the fog away to little avail, raising a hand as if to catch the mystery and feel its meaning.

 

He hears a shirt being jerked off, flung to the floor, then a belt being undone.  _Clack_. Metal buckles loosen, its noise hinting at...

 

Was his best friend stripping? If so, he's missing a rare show.

 

“What’s goin on?” not understanding, Naruto wrinkles his nose. "Sasuke?"

 

He narrows his gaze, hoping for a small preview. Only for the blindness to persist.

 

"You don't like it?"

 

 _It_? Naruto practically clutches the wall behind him in agonizing frustration. There's an _it_?

 

"Like what?"

 

"Quit playing already."

 

"Hey, hey." Naruto puts out his arms, as he feels a glare drill into him. "What is it? Seriously, I'm distracted or..."

 

"The tattoo, idiot."

 

"I see it now," he throws in a chuckle or two. What he really saw, was nothing. 

 

"Show me yours," Sasuke demands. “If it’s a degree off from mine, I’ll be annoyed.”

 

But when he really squints, he does catch a glimpse of a vague outline. The dark, navy blue splotch on Sasuke's hip bone. And his imagination fills in the details: shocking details rain through, dampening his clothes because he breaks into a a full sweat in a minute flat. Was it true? Matching tattoos? A nervous runnel of perspiration slithers down his brow. Sasuke went and—

 

"You didn't." One languid swallow for air, as if that’s the last breath ever. Yet he’s sure he’s sparkling with affection. "You went and did the one thing...I mean you even said you hated tattoos."

 

He misses the gleams of interest.

 

"I do. But not this one."

 

"Not this one?! It's the  _only one_ —"

 

When he’s seized by the shoulders again, a whisper rolls to him.

 

“Don’t tell my brother.”

 

He clenches his jaw, especially when Sasuke manhandles them to the bed. You know his gravity’s screwed when one push sends him careening over, back bouncing a little on the mattress. Finally the bed relaxes, only for it to dip and creak as Sasuke crawls atop him. Naruto swallows again, blinking rapidly. As usual his vision’s indefinitely buffering still.

 

“Purposefully playing stupid…had me strip for you. Don’t think you could get any more obvious.”

 

Blurs, and yet vividly he feels the friction of heat flushing against his. The sensations themselves splatter color, and he licks his lips.

 

“No I didn’t,” denies Naruto, reflexively putting up his hands.

 

Only for them to be bound over his head.

 

 “Enough…dummy.”

 

The nuzzling in his neck, of Sasuke’s lips hovering, and long fluttering eyelashes fanning—intensifies. He lets out a strangled rumble, and immediately's rewarded with a kneading massage, as if Sasuke encourages him to make more noise; the fists dig into his muscles, soothingly yet arduous, with an occasional, but unpredictable squeeze of his nipple. Much to Sasuke's satisfaction, were sensitive as if directly connected to a nerve, when pressed, turns him into a writhing, shameless mess. And through his collared shirt, both his hardened buttons experience tortuous attention, when twisted and exposed to hot breath.

 

And he groans incoherently, not even comprehending himself. He's in an awful state, of submission.

 

 “I swear. Really didn’t see. S'uke...”

 

Nothing’s gentle about the bites, mouth working along his collar bone. He bucks up, as if enslaved. With each jumping wild sensation, he shudders as suckles from underneath his jaw travel in a haunting drawl to the groove of his shoulder. The whole while Sasuke’s fingers sneakily coil under his jacket, spreading and pressing deeply, like a net catching as much flesh as possible. 

 

“Hold on. What if I only felt like cuddling tonight?” he says, humorously. "Would you ever settle for that, Sasuke?"

 

Who of course emboldens, unzipping the nuisance of his orange coat. 

 

“Hey. I'm kinda serious, here. Isn’t your brother around, won’t he walk in or hear?”

 

“He never bothers.”

 

He strains as a vein’s popping out his temple. Why is he so torn with the feeling as though he's acting dishonorably? Before he can figure out, he voices his doubt.

 

“You know what…maybe it's not an ace of a plan.”

 

“If it's my brother you're worried about, then all you have to do is hold your tongue. Can you?”

 

Without a chance to consider, the sopping wet mouth revisits previously marked places, paying homage. Could feel the worship. And he's disoriented, like he's dived into a whorehouse, blindfolded, with hands groping him. A slicing purr skids past his lips, much to his chagrin and he's sure he's bleeding in the mouth, to hold back the wild moan threatening to escape. For Sasuke feels like a dozen. Concentrated pent up energy, the way his shirt's yanked round, but never pulled completely off. Only hitched up enough for Sasuke to nip at his tightened nubs, throbbing in sensitivity, and when he feels a warm tongue run across, he cries out.

 

“There’s somethin I hafta say  —”

 

He's shushed in the next collision of kiss, yet the copper taste's dreadful. But Sasuke seems incredibly turned on by the self-inflicted injury, making sure to steal every last drop of blood.

 

In fact, a peculiar sound tears from lips devouring: shaky gasps cackle like sparks flying, as kisses turn to maximum sawing strength: files clarity into dust. Drives him crazy, how wide his eyes are, yet capturing not even a stray clear pixel. Not even a singular ray of light to bless his rolling gaze. He clutches the sides of the mattress, and then Sasuke’s shoulders, because the darkness worsens as if blinders flank his head.

 

As if a wall's threatening to crush him, Naruto shoves the other with all his might, to survive, not be flattened. However as if they’re glued by the ribs, he’s dragged along to straddle. And Naruto wilts atop his position.

 

“Deadweight. Stop being a deadweight.”

 

The amount of frustration in the voice was paramount and comical. Though finally toning down the need, Sasuke slows to a pause. 

 

“What is it you need to say? Get it out already, you know I despise it when you hold back.”

 

While impervious to the glare aimed his way, Naruto feels muscles ripple beneath him with anticipation. What a perfectly dreadful time for a confession. Humiliating. Then to be cast off this bed, in the worst case: pity. Even worse: unequal.

 

“I’m going—“  _blind_ , like some illness. “I mean—I can’t anymore—”  _see_ , like wounded. “Sasuke…I…”

 

Thinking this was some dreadful break-up, Sasuke sits up with Naruto still mounted on his lap. Now all the smoke and lust’s glaze sharpens to a stiletto’s wobbling point.

 

“You can’t anymore— _what_? What are you telling me exactly?”

 

Under the pressure, Naruto laughs. Especially when he unpockets the gift from Itachi.

 

The glasses beam like a divine prop on the stage, to which Sasuke says nothing. Complete silence from an audience of a million, a weight of the world. He fumbles with the spectacles, scarcely keeping them from falling out his clumsy hands. Finally he puts them on, and at once feels Sasuke tensing under, hard arousal twitching even.

 

Tucking back nuisance blond hair, Naruto declares, “This.”

 

The frames sit comfortably along the contours of his wrinkling nose. And no words could describe the stillness of the moment. The blinding illumination. The grand high definition at long last, and for the first time in all night he's feeling on top of the world. He leans over to trace the scowling canines and curving frown in the other, every detail a trophy to store in a showcase.

 

“You look ridiculous,” mutters Sasuke, breathless, and enduring the petting. 

 

Perhaps if he wasn't so quick to feel his heart tear, he'd notice a glint of admiration passing in the other. And another laugh tears from Naruto, blocking out the noise of his internal cracks. He knew this would be so! He knew, and still hope and disappointment stew in his very gut.

 

“Not even if I was your calculus professor,” defends Naruto, heartbeat racing, throbbing even with the gaping hole. “And you’re barely passing my class?”

 

At this suggestion, Sasuke’s delicate brow quirks. “What are you admitting to me."

 

"The challenge of winning your sensei's heart, bastard. I won't be easy...feel free to get as rough as you need. At your own risk."

 

And to think he’d miss all the details dancing. In a surge of affection, Naruto pushes the boy beneath him to complete flat submission, practically pouncing for joy.

 

“Alright? C’mon, show me you care about your grade.”

 

A very compressed snort escapes Sasuke. "But  _math_? Really. Make it a little realistic, will you?”

 

“Fine. History. Now let’s get down to—”

 

Another scoff.

 

And he immediately frowns. “Language?”

 

Sasuke’s brows furrow in mock disbelief.

 

And he would have never seen it. The flush painting across pale cheeks, the slight upturn of scowl, signaling him precisely how ambivalent his friend was. He longs to sustain this image of Sasuke beneath, not ever wanting to return to the prison of blurs, into a sea of insensible lines.

 

“Your art professor,” suggests Naruto, now cupping the burning temples. “C'mon! Can’t be that hard to believe. I teach film?”

 

Yet Sasuke fixes with stubborn resistance, making no movement to break the tender hold.

 

“So you’ve never showed up, bad attendance, right? Never liked the films I chose…so you’re on the verge of an F! Got it?”

 

 “What’s the point of this game.” Then a swallow, the both of them. “I don’t want a professor…I want you.”

Eye contact, precise. Naruto tips forward, landing a perfectly aligned kiss. Nothing clumsy. Not like before. And in an interval of breaking apart, Sasuke wiggles the frames off.

 

“These are in the way.”

 

They’re tossed to the side.

 

A  _clank_ sounds. The glasses, now out of reach, stares at him as a witness. The mattress dips and regains itself upon shuffling movements. While an oppressive canopy of black descends upon his peripheries, and this further slices the hole. He wilts again. 

 

Kisses cycle into a wheel, into a waterfall. A predictable but exhausting circle of passion. Falling from peaks, soaring, and dropping together; only the process rewinds instantly with a breath's pause, nothing more. He feels his adrenaline shoot to the sky, only for Sasuke's ravaging mouth to drain it all. They flip over in mad combat for dominance, and again their connection sends him high, into the clouds. Claws embed in his back like arrowheads barbed with lust and selfish need, punctuated by their teeth clacking kisses. Deeper, and deeper.

 

_…you won’t tell my brother?_

 

 “Sasuke."

 

“First drawer. Dresser.”

 

Body’s desperate to forget.  _Forget_  the stupid confession. It didn’t matter. He was fine. Why would Itachi implant any other idea? He’s young, practically invincible—stamina’s insane, everyone tells him—he’s trained years to be this fit. And he always believed little malfunctions will correct themselves with proper diet and training. Things are still in his power, under his control.

 

So Itachi’s smart, deft fingers flipping through a portfolio should mean nothing…hell with the doubts.

 

And so quickly he untangles from the embrace. Dizziness attacks, as sprinkles of flies tell him to breathe, and that he made too sudden of a stand. But stubbornly he marches off to a direction.

 

“Where are you going?” demands Sasuke hoarsely.

 

Naruto freezes. “Your dresser?”

 

“The opposite way.”

 

Backpedaling, until fully whirling round, Naruto swims across the blurs. It took all his will power  _not_  to pat the air with his arms.

 

But he should have.

 

Because a whole thread of misfortunes hits him in the face. He walks straight into a loose closet door. A yelp tears from the nerves as he steps on his own feet, tripping sideways into the cave of Sasuke’s closet. Clothes pound over his head and the whole wardrobe splits open like an earthquake. Then a tie hanging on the fallen wrack somehow wraps round his neck, like a creeper strangling his own throat. Ultimately the metal rack disjoints in thunderous collapse, breaking in two at the force of his fall.

 

“ _Naruto_!”

 

Untangles the goddamned tie off his neck. Coughs. The scent of musk and cologne overwhelms, thick like a forest waft. Sasuke’s smell dumps all over him since the hamper tucked in the shelf above broke loose. Everything breaks loose like a walnut shell cracking to pieces. You’d have covered your eyes. And he flails out of the used pile of clothes threatening to smother him alive. A close call, really.   

 

“Naruto are you alri—”

 

“Why’d you hafta leave it wide open, huh Sasuke?” he snaps, but anyone could hear the embarrassment.

 

 A slicing sound of scorn. “Get off the floor. Now.”

 

“Don’t worry that was nothing. I forgive your inconsiderate ass. But just know leaving your door open like this—”

 

“I know what you’re doing.”

 

Before Naruto could fire off like a canon—out of nowhere, strong vines bind him again.

 

Yanked off the floor in one hell of a dance. They practically waltz across the room, with their hands clasping in cruel combat. Sightless, Naruto holds his own, tightening up, and fighting off the maneuvers. Growling noises wisp between their breaths, as Sasuke insists they ought to slam back into bed together.  Instead of succumbing, he fights to the last drop…bent over the brink in full resistance as if the mattress is goaded with thorns; and Sasuke’s pushing him to his demise.

 

“This act is getting on my nerves,” grinds out Sasuke, still pressing with might. “You're stalling and I want to know why.”

 

His back’s forced to an arch, like a bending branch about to snap.

 

“What act? You’re goddamned out your mind if you think I’d do any of this on purpose.”

 

“Because I know already—how you pull these stunts all due to the fact you can’t tell me straight.”

 

The perfect bait.

 

Naruto empowers with sudden energy enough to send the other flying backwards.

 

“Tell you straight on what? Huh?”

 

“Whatever it is you’re dying to talk about since the first day,” answers Sasuke clipped. “So tell me. I’m listening.”

 

The edge. As if grabbing the rocky edge, and he’s hanging from the cliff…with Sasuke’s foot hovering over his clasping hand. Winds sway—and the grip weakens. If only he could pull up, and read the other’s expressivity, decipher the physiognomy again.

 

“Well? If there’s nothing...”

 

His lack of response must unnerve Sasuke, who inch by inch reclaims close proximity.  

 

And fog blows—a nighttime kind of fog. Feeling goosebumps when the shroud thickens.  No immediate answer fills him, except Naruto backs up one or two steps.

 

Another mistake.

 

Because the nightstand topples as if by violent whirlwinds. He trips. In fact, stepping on his own left foot, for hell’s sake. And this time, like all other times, nothing catches his fall. Even as he grasps for anything, anything at all, it’s as if he’s thrust in cold outer space until he’s on the floor again.  _Fkwaam_. Broken ceramics scatter like loud dice clacking and he feels the barbs on his fingertips. Jagged pieces transition to smooth and rectangular, though, as he runs fingers across, which means the glasses survived the fall, still wholly intact.

 

“What the hell…Naruto…just...”

 

He’s too blind to see Sasuke offering a hand for him to take.

 

“Shit,” whipping around, “just—damn it—I’m sorry actually—”

 

“Get up already.”

 

Staring off to the side, eyes wide, Naruto pats for a space on the floor without the shards. He feels his heart clench when Sasuke’s grunting in impatience, yet completely oblivious to the waving arm stretched out like a lifeline.

 

“That was a real accident, I swear. Sheesh. I’m a monster.”

 

However the second he’s up, he’s bound to the wall where the nightstand once stood. Bound as if by arrows, fingers of Sasuke’s digging into him.

 

“Oh, you swear? And yes…quite the monster tonight.”

 

They slant back, with Sasuke heavily leaning over him. Every puff for air tickles his ears, while exhaustion hangs like dumbbells to his muscles. What with ceramic spikes scattered around, with neither of them cleaning, Naruto’s not ready to afford another set of stitches.

 

“You enjoy wrecking my room, Naruto? Next time ride me instead, if you want to thrash around like an animal.”

 

“Don’t be an ass…they were accidents. Not like I’m a clown on rampage for  _fun_ ,” he murmurs, smiling sheepishly halfway through.

 

Instead of an amused snort, Sasuke’s desperation peaks, tugging painfully tight.

 

“No more stunts. No more ‘accidents’. You want this, don’t you? Otherwise, stop me now.”

 

When lips dripping of thirst meet his own, Naruto sinks: the hot sensation only a vague part of it, the rest being weight of realization.

 

Zigzagging through the air’s all the slip ups at once bearing down. From the knife fiasco in the kitchen, turning up late to all their dates, playing sightless to the tattoos, to acting like a natural disaster in destroying the bedroom…this all looks like regular, old Naruto. Typical him. Stubborn, yet dashingly clumsy. Of course! And Sasuke couldn’t even tell the difference. Sasuke’s believing.

 

He could pretend. Become better, more practiced in this. And he’d never have to admit this cripple.

 

This could work.

 

“I do. I want this.”

 

At this flickering star of hope, Naruto collides them together, kiss deepening. He opens unlike before and swirling flavors intensifies to maddening cyclones, powerful to sweep a city. Tornadoes of their pants leaves him high and breathless, unsure caresses turning to vibrant, rocking rhythms. Sasuke’s scent and contagious fever drives him crazy, crazy hunger to feel every dimension of this faceless mass of sensations.

 

“You taste so good. I can’t have enough,” admits Sasuke.

 

"Me too."

 

Vision’s dimmed, oil in his eyes, and black in his peripheries: Naruto’s hands drift in violent waves, along the tensing frame…gold mines, treasures, under his fingers to feel Sasuke’s furrowed brows, runnels of sweat, and bones gearing like cogs in intensity.

 

“Naruto. Enough teasing.”

 

Flipping them over, he's pinned down, feeling all the weight, the burden. A rush. He drinks the changing pitches of the moans swishing between their mouths. And the pulse between his legs spreads to even the pace of his fluttering lashes. Until soon discomfort of jeans, another hypersensitivity, drives him back to the edge and into trembling excitement to rid the overflow. How when kisses turn to rough massaging of the lips, pelvises grind in intoxicating friction, they roll against the wall like logs soaring by gravity…to the bed.

 

Straddling atop Sasuke, he forces to keep his eyes from drooping—even though they beg to be shut. They’re useless after all.

 

His grazing hands lower, retrieving as much tactile information, tracing the naked flesh slowly, reminded once again his friend’s only in boxers and a shirt. Yet still, he fondles inch by inch—and rather than in admiration, which is what Sasuke perceives, the languid tracing's to survey a land, for anymore trip wires.  

 

“Naruto…have you ever…before…”

 

The question. Must mean he’s not executing right, and Sasuke’s already raising doubts.

 

“I have,” Naruto says with surprising resolution.

 

No. What did he just spit out? 

 

Immediately, the body beneath stiffens. “Who? Was it Sakura?”

 

He freezes, especially as Sasuke seizes his shoulders in punctuation.

 

“No,” he churns out. Getting superbly angry at himself. “It’s not anyone you—”

 

“—that instructor we had. Senior year of high school, don't tell me. For anger management, _him_?”

 

Blood spatters or his vein explodes in disbelief. “Not Gaara—he’s my friend!”

 

“Just like I’m your ‘friend’?”

 

As if the bowling ball knocks a strike, Naruto grips exposed hips to keep from tipping backwards. Digging his claws into Sasuke’s very bones.

 

“You don’t know them, alright? And they’re flings, nothing more…flings okay? Just like you’ve had your share.”

 

Hell, why is he spouting that? What is Sasuke doing to him? He's never lied in his life, not like this. 

 

“Suppose I never bothered to have a ‘share’, as you so eloquently put it," says Sasuke. "What am I to call this?”

 

Only hearing the spite and his own beating heart, he misses the hurt.

 

“Does it matter what we call it?”

 

He means well, though words were a stunning weakness of his—and action truly felt his attuned blade.

 

And thus mistaking the sudden tensing beneath him, as a sign of arousal, Naruto kisses a trail, riding up the undergarment in the way. The muscle he captures in his lips tightens. He must have won Sasuke's faith, for no more questions are fired. Thighs spread a perfect cradle for his face to bury into, and Sasuke rocks into his touch. Though he keeps a purposeful distance, not allowing for such a connection yet.

 

 _Badum_.  _Badum_.

 

Their drumming heartbeats must be adding together in volume. A few pleasurable strokes, he renders Sasuke into an arch, could feel the rolling of hips frantic…

 

“I’m coming in, little brother.”

 

Not their heartbeats. The door. Itachi’s voice. Knocking sounds like gongs. Freezing up, his heart catches. Hears Sasuke call out to wait, scarcely in underwear and all. Still a panting mess underneath him. But the door opens regardless.

  
  
When hinges noisily signal…the race begins. He leaps off the bed, like some track star vaulting over. Hopping away, he buttons up his shirt while Sasuke swipes to cover himself under the blankets.

 

And padding footsteps speaking urgent concern, dwindles to stark amusement; elegant cadences like rain drops pittering and pattering. The sound of Itachi in the gravity.

 

“I apologize for interrupting.”

 

Naruto's long shot away from the intimate position, already feeling for a wall to maybe lean on or guide with. But he harkens to Itachi’s condescending footsteps—and burns like a flaming stick of mortification. Just the sound sings of omniscience. The doctor's not a man to fool, clearly, anyone would put two and two together. 

 

For the closet’s inward-out. Wardrobe's spattered, a broken hamper, the lube’s out in the open on the dresser, nightstand or whatever was on it, spilled into broken fragments, shattered. Ceramics actually, destroyed. Heat spreads to his ears and into his useless eyes, pressure painful.

 

“Really the messiest I’ve ever seen this room ever get, though.”

 

Before either he or Sasuke could sink into any more stupor, Itachi graces with mercy, and continues.

 

“You haven’t e-mailed your application, and it’s almost midnight.”

 

“What are you—”

 

“I was just notified of it. They sent me a reminder. You have two hours left.”

 

An explosive exhale releases from Sasuke.

 

“The program’s not worth my time. I already told you!”

 

“What you told me is you’d follow through. You already have all the components, we tended to all of them, what’s left is you simply need to press send.”

 

Naruto shivers at the sobriety, all of a sudden the sound of a tennis ball being smacked from one side to the other.

 

Like a canon firing, Sasuke launches off, “It can wait. I don’t need two hours to press a button. Besides I’m with Naruto right now, can’t you see that—I’m not dropping him for a  _godforsaken_  program that you obviously care more about than I do!”

 

The silence after the smoke rises. After people evacuated, a city blown to nothing—the place feels hollow. The room’s a site of war, now hauntingly abandoned. And Naruto can’t help but pat the wall, inch closer to Sasuke. Panic when his foot hovers over shattered ceramic, always feeling he’s about to step on a trap, or thorn…except—

 

“Careful.”

 

A grip takes him. Veers him away. Not Sasuke’s vines, not those whip chains, dragging to a hell they share together. Because he’s coaxed out the room, as if by wind, the way Itachi’s arm shields him like a wing. In a whoosh, the fresh air of the hallway meets his nose, and the warmth from Itachi’s arm secures.

 

“You finish the business before the deadline. I’ll take Naruto home.”

 

The haggard pants of Sasuke scarcely chase after. “No—no  _I’ll_  take him home.”

 

Before Itachi slams the door, he hears:

 

“You’re not even dressed, little brother.”

 

 

.

.

.

 

The second the door slams, a trance cracks. The hypnosis dispels. And the darkness swallowing his peripheries—

 

Itachi fits the glasses over his glazed eyes.

 

—turns to light.

 

“You almost stepped on them.”

 

Blinking, Naruto relishes in sight again. Running clammy fingers along the frames, he gasps like he’s finally tore from underwater. How? So much adrenaline—power sapping from his veins. And he sees how close he is to the other’s chest; how the arm round his waist loosens, yet hovers almost protectively.  Then the way Itachi’s unblinking gaze fumes, an intensity impossible to fan out, burnt umber darkening.

 

At once, Naruto stumbles back, groping himself, and thanking every deity he’s fully dressed.

 

“I’m sorry if I—”  

 

Except Itachi’s already turned for the stairs, as if refusing the apology.

 

Another wave of guilt launches him forward. He grabs for Itachi, snatching a handful the hems of a collared shirt. And the link sends a rush through his spine. As though he’s holding onto a moving cloud—clinging to the coattails of a massive flight, that’d help him soar. Soar and stay like a castle in the sky, never having to fall.

 

“Everything you saw in Sasuke’s room,” Naruto spills, clutching tighter, “was all me.”

 

“That would be stating the obvious, Naruto-kun. And I won’t pretend I didn’t hear nearly every bit of that theatrical storm.”

 

Bricks dropping—the sound of disappointment—slams like a bludgeon to the gut.

 

“I promise…I won’t come here again,” he scarcely whisks out. “And to definitely pay for anything I broke.”

 

Itachi’s façade remains unhinged. Like a perfectly aligned stone wall, not even a sliver of crack. And Naruto gulps, averting his sights, until the penetration’s unbearable. He runs past. Shooting down the stairs, all the while throwing a peace sign over his shoulder, sputtering a sorry speech.

 

“So I’ll just…leave. And I’ll make up for this, I promise. Bye!”

 

“Naruto.”

 

Mid-step freezes, clutching the rail. He’s afraid to turn around and face further subjection.

 

Itachi continues, “The ceramic you destroyed…”

 

You’d have seen him turn to a shivering body of ice, Naruto grimaces in pain. But Itachi for some reason has an amused tone.

 

“Was an antique vase, covered by insurance which will collect Sasuke a nice sum of ten grand or so. He ought to thank you.”

 

With that, Itachi passes him. At first like an alluring silhouette, ghosting ahead into the foyer. Then paves a path, magnetizing the air to which Naruto stands stupefied: insured vase. But if it was so valuable in the first place, enough to be insured, then certainly there was more loss than win?

 

Yet Itachi glances back with solidarity, optimism simmering and leaving no room to doubt.  

 

“And I’ll take you home, so please come with me.”

 

“No—I can walk. Besides…I bothered you enough.”

 

Nonetheless, Itachi holds the door open, gesturing for him to follow.

 

“The nearest station is miles away,” says the other, plainly. “And the last bus was fifteen minutes ago, I insist.”

 

 _Criiiiak_.

 

“Itachi, I said  _I’d_ drive him _,”_ is the shout from upstairs down the hall.

 

At the voice of his best friend, Naruto feels every hair lurch in distress and the breath he’s holding, knocks out.

 

But before Sasuke could flash into the scene, he bolts out the door, and into Itachi’s blinking car. Feels as if he escaped a grenade pointblank. The way Sasuke would have seen him right then, only to mention how ridiculous he looked. Again.

 

In the car ride, Naruto shuffles at every flip of the thought. He knew not to mosey into Sasuke’s room; and with a burning red face, buries himself into sweaty palms. What a goddamned fizzle. Not only did he lie to Sasuke on multiple accounts, he’s now a reincarnation of a tornado. Wrecking total havoc…all those collisions, all shards, the mess. He can’t pretend, could he?

 

And all the vulgar kissing noises, the squelching, and nudity…it wasn’t even bad. Not even half as filthy as his imagination, of course! But for Itachi to walk in—Naruto sinks as if by quicksand in his seat. What does Itachi think of him now? The man’s a saint, going out on a limb to help him…and the shame prickles his cheeks in painful mortification.

 

He stares out the car window, into the night—only for his eyes to focus on the reflection of Itachi’s profile. Enigmatic, with the air around losing serenity, vibrating with some unseen aggravation. Naruto scratches his neck, riveted as if watching through the glass was like a lens magnifying how unerringly impassive the other is.

 

“Itachi—I didn’t mean to…”

 

His pathetic attempt to douse the unseen embers, fail. Was the doctor fed up?

 

“Naruto-kun, do you drive?”

 

The careful steer of a wheel, matches Itachi’s subtle intonation.

 

“Huh?” Breathing’s a task now. “I mean well—I got a beat up truck that’s hardly running now—guess so I drive. Sometimes. If the engine’s in the mood and all….why?”

 

Feels the inertia drift at the turn out of the highway.

 

“Because I’ll be issuing a report. If you don’t voluntarily give up your license, that is.”

 

Fire burning, as instinct launches, Naruto nearly jumps out his seat.

 

“I need my truck to get to school and work—what the—I’m not blind!” After huffing out more steam, he sputters, “And besides I got glasses now! Works plenty fine.”

 

“Glasses you only wear around me. Pray tell me, what good is that?”

 

“Well you’re the only one who likes it. Said I looked smart.” Shit, now swallowing’s painful. “But I am smart, y’know, enough to know my life’s a turn to hell the sec I go on crutches.”

 

Itachi’s expression is blank but full of intent.

 

“So you told Sasuke.”

 

“What makes you think that huh? Cos these were out in the open?” He points to the frames in a slow exaggerated motion, and then looks away stiffly. “Well guess what? The second I put them on, Sasuke’s expression filled with loathing—”

 

“Loathing?”

 

“Like he almost didn’t even see me. And said I looked stupid, not that that’s anythin new. But he even took ‘em off himself! You’re just…”

 

Surges of admiration clog. Forcing his eyes away, Naruto mumbles the rest. 

 

“You’re different, and he’s not ever gonna think the way you do.”

 

Itachi’s brow quivers the slightest.

 

“Looks like you’re the only one, doc,” he continues, spitefully. The sourness hurts, and he cringes at his own tone. “That’s alright though, no one can tell the difference, isn’t that funny? Good thing people are used to me bein a klutz and all. Never thought that’d pay off. Heh.”

 

And without bounds, thrills skitter up his neck to see Itachi brows furrow in vexation. Why?

 

He immerses into the expressivity, the slight cadences of pain, as if watching a perilous sky. And clouds of varying climate pass overhead, to see Itachi break a sweat, hear the calm…how slender fingers coil over the steering wheel, moving ever slightly and gently—yet compressing tension. Naruto never feels the car gear into a halt.

 

In fact he’s startled out his wits when Itachi unbuckles his seatbelt.

 

“Hey—wait—”

 

Until he sees they’re parked across the street, across his crappy building…looming sorrily. Water doesn’t rain here, only spiders and dust.

 

“Hold on a sec, doc!”

 

In the shitty slum of his neighborhood. You could see mounds of trash, not even in bags, swallowing the street. And chipped, rusted fences rising low and high over broken entry doors. Really, his heart’s heavy just from the transition. From one smiling community to a frowning one like another fall. One of the worst trips.

 

And in the time he unhinges his seatbelt, Itachi’s already stepped out the car, opening the damn door for him like he’s some princess to be escorted.  

 

To which Naruto stumbles out, griping, “You remember my address. From my profile I guess. You’re an ace of a gentleman, thank you.” He bows for effect, hoping to veil his ever growing embarrassment.

 

“I’ll walk you upstairs.”

 

And when his hand’s clasped, he’s frozen, and the shenanigans truly curl to a halt.

 

“Really?” he blurts out, unmoving.

 

“Your night vision’s not the best.”

 

He prays to heaven he’s not gushing out a sappy look. And hates himself for sounding so goddamned tongue-tied.

 

“That’s…yeah…it’s hard to see…I mean…I’ll take the elevator, doc!” Naruto stammers, throat constricting. “Besides, you don’t wanna smell trash for too long, do ya?”

 

Itachi rises over him, a whole head taller. And yet like a spiraling stairway to a light, Naruto feels he can climb up, rest in the acceptance, and somewhere up there, awaits an even platform, where a tower standing of their own they’d share. Never the brunt of the fall, only an ideal, floating over the entire expanse of crummy old Earth. And this hand fitting perfectly between and around his fingers—is the tether, a rail he holds, as he ascends each flight.

 

“Except there’s no elevator,” asserts Itachi, musingly so. “Even if there were, it’d be out of service in a building like this.”

 

…he’s on tip-toes. No wonder Itachi’s eyes crease in curiosity.

 

“What’re ya tryin to say, huh? How would’ya know that?”

 

Instead of faltering or moving back, Itachi inclines forward.

 

And Naruto can’t blink. Heart yowling in his chest—seconds turning to winds pushing him from behind. Nearly feeling the smile over his own.

 

“Because I lived here before.”

 

The lens focuses, or he swears everything blurs but the faint smile. Lips perfect and curving.

 

“Very funny. You got me.”

 

When Itachi laughs, he decides it’s the best he’s heard. Anyone else would sound forced, but the low ribbons of laughter touch so gently like foam to his ears. Points him away from the dark terrors, the doors—the wretched doors—made of broken glass. They pass through the ugly arch, entering the building, and he’s blind to the usual oppressive air. Shattered fragments of windows, shattered like the ceramics he ruined…its breaking and Sasuke’s impatience…nearly asphyxiating.

 

Without even realizing, he’s seizing Itachi’s arm by the whole. The clinging action earns him a questioning glance. And he loosens up the connection, only a little.

 

“Your pulse is racing,” says Itachi, who had been subtly measuring. “Over ninety.”

 

Before concern could manifest in the other, Naruto stutters out. “Forget that.” Though the worry scarcely dissipates, as Itachi frowns. Naruto continues the ramble, “You’re pulling my leg, doc. You never shacked up in these towers of doom.”

 

“Does it really surprise you?”

 

The charming question tickles him into stark rapture. Because the wild heartbeat eating his throat, now turns into a sniggering fit. He even wipes his nose for show, anything to mask the confusion, the sappy sentiment nesting, so strangely sweet. All the while he vaguely feels their linkage shake like rustling branches.

 

“Appreciate you trying to make me less—what do they say—‘self-conscious’—and all. You don’t gotta go that far.”

 

“However far that might be, it’s the truth.”

 

First flight, ascended and lamps flicker in dysfunctionality. Footsteps echo, so do their voices bounce in these dim halls.

 

“Did you run away or something?”

 

A ray of light, disjointed like a prism’s beam from the busted windows, flickers…scarcely illuminating the faintest of smirk in the other.

 

“I might have.”

 

Naruto glares from under matting blond. Sweat sheening.

 

“Tch. Bet it took ya one week of this shithole to saddle up and turn for home.”

 

Now Itachi’s smile widens, blasting on megaphones—except no words. And the silence unnerves, as they stop before his apartment door.

 

“Right?” Naruto spreads arms wide, shouting, “I’m right!”

 

Could have tangoed with the way his arms outstretched, and instead he earns a tightening of their interlocked hands. As Itachi places a shushing finger over Naruto’s grin.

 

“You didn’t leave your keys with Sasuke, did you?” insists Itachi, quirking a brow daringly.

 

“No. I got it.”

 

Once their hold breaks, he anxiously whirls. Fumbles into his pockets, while something with dull teeth bites at his heart.

 

Wrong key. His fingers shake the clanging metal. Peripheries blurring.

 

“Naruto-kun, you’ll wake up all your friendly neighbors if you keep jingling like a bell.”

 

“ _Everyone good night and good morning!”_

 

Echoes of his outburst bounce like pellets of a machine gun. And shoving at last the correct the key in, Naruto swings open the door. But not without acknowledging the lurking unsaid.

 

“Are you coming in or not? You are. I can tell you got somethin to say to me.”

 

Itachi blinks, but follows suit. “And how can you tell?”

 

“The little nervous swallows. Like something’s sitting in that mouth of yours and I can almost taste it—spit it out, doc.”

 

Now he feels himself chill to every bone under the scrutiny.

 

“If you wouldn’t mind,” returns Itachi. “I’d like it if you came to visit me.”

 

Even in cold realization, a warm fog envelopes, almost trance-like. Sharp knives of reality, numb to a tingling balm—as Itachi’s gaze smolders and bears down.

 

“Visit…you? Why?”

 

“It’s a matter better attended in the proper setting. Tomorrow. Come five tomorrow in my office, will you?”

 

The word no’s a rock sinking to the bottom of the ocean. An urgency, a longing, foreign aromas mingle inside. Pillows catch the fall, the soft silence, far from rushing, far from demanding.

 

“I’ll come after practice. Just don’t…don’t tell Sasuke because I—” An impossible lump of dread lodges, and he nearly chokes out in a whisper. “I didn’t.”

 

“I see.”

 

Shame skins him slowly.

 

“You gotta believe me doc, I was about to.” The temperature drops. “Who am I kidding? I’m probably fine. I know it. When I wear this, I feel like I don’t even know what blind’s like—this is probably the worst it’s gonna get.”

 

However, no affirmation’s offered.

 

But Naruto stubbornly presses, “Right?”

 

And the moment he sinks into a swamp of suffocating depression, a breeze chimes in. The feeling of brushing fingers, sweeping matted hair aside. Intoxicating power presses firmly and flatly to his forehead, as Itachi leans forward, swiping with a palm the heat off his brow. Instant awakening—awakening within a dream—happening so naturally, in the moment he inwardly questions for more.

 

“I wouldn’t tell my brother. You have my word.”

 

Somewhere down the line, focusing on the breeze, his eyes drifted shut, and he wraps a grip over the hand. Trapping Itachi’s wrist, forcing it there.

 

“Thanks.” And he meant it. “For this lil hiccup to happen—just when Sasuke finally sees me too.”

 

“And do you see yourself, Naruto?”

 

A snort trickles out, broken without any momentum. “Kinda question is that. Course I see the handsome fella every morning looking back.”

 

“That’s all important.” Though Itachi frowns, voice lowering, “You’re running a slight fever.”

 

The gesture, the touch…just a means to diagnose.

 

And at once he snaps back. Hearing his own voice turn sour. “Right. Course. You should know, I always run a slight fever.”

 

Why the hell did he sound sore? No, that won’t do, and his mouth runs off, to undo the snippy tone he unleashed.

 

“So when I see ya tomorrow, what kinda chocolates you like?”

 

“Think it would be your turn to surprise me.”

 

Naruto feels his eyes staple open and widen. "Jokin with you’s a dangerous thing."

 

“Not the most dangerous thing, I should say.”

 

His mouth parts, as if in instinct to draw more air. He must have stood like that for an uncomfortable length of time, because Itachi wedges in with instructions.

 

"Put in my number."

 

He nods, but he’s got a rundown mobile, the one with three letters on one digit. Painstakingly he punches in the  _U,_ Sasuke comes up on his contact list. Ignoring the suggestion, Naruto fills in Itachi....but then that felt off.

 

Crashing to his bed not much later, he’d stare and read the name over and over again. Right above Sasuke, a personal unknown. Man, he’s always hated algebra but the problem with that was x, y, and z were mysteries not worth solving. But Itachi was. And he’d stare with his heart lurching, thoughts spinning. What news, what did Sasuke's brother have to tell him? Does he really want to know? 

 

He retypes  _Doc_  instead. Flares his pulse doing so, oddly.

.

.

.

 


	4. Dango for Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks for everyone’s criticisms and reviews. I edited the last chapter to be less ‘wordy’, less hefty, and will work on it for future chapters. All feedback’s appreciated and well, on to the show—

 

 

.

.

.

 

 

Practice is hell. And they’re using an outdoor court since the gym’s being renovated.

  
  
Head’s pounding. He’s not sure if it’s from the falls in Sasuke’s room or a lack of sleep, he couldn’t tell. Though catching passes became the bane of his existence. Balls at speeds enough to wound, hit him square in the face and when he'd dribble the ball, he's intercepted easily, even knocked to the ground from an unsuspecting blocker.

  
  
Eventually coach Bee demands he do a free throw from half court. All his teammates murmur in curiosity. This should be easy for Naruto, is what they’re saying.

 

Bouncing the ball twice then thrice, Naruto aims at the vague blurs of the hoop. And when someone cries out in pain, all's over. The charade halts meanly. He’s officially now hit someone’s unsuspecting head. Sounds as though it might be Kiba—nonetheless…

  
  
Coach Bee pulls him off to the side.

 

"What's going on, you know this ain't fun,” croons the man. “Watching you play like this, every ball a miss, something's up and it’s time to fess!"

  
  
"Coach I don't know, just tired 'ttebayo!"

 

"Sit on the bench then, you're out the game till hell knows when."

 

"But—but you gotta gimme another shot, cos I'd do anything than sit the bench to rot!"

 

Teammates watch with rolling eyes, murmuring: “They’re at it again.”

 

Especially Kiba, who says, “I don’t know that kid! Really!”

 

To the beat of a dribbling ball, Bee finalizes his decision.

 

“No, no, Naru-to, I can’t let you go, to wreck the floor, your game’s poor, and eyes like glass, you can’t even pass.”

 

Naruto flicks his collar, to the ridiculous beat being dropped.

 

“You’re right Bee, I really can’t see.” He lets an explosive sigh of surrender. “Lemme put on my glasses and lemme free. I can play like befo’, just watch yo!”

 

Anyone’d else get a serious suspension from coach—but the rap fiesta ping ponging between them—was their special connection.

 

Coach Bee watches behind thick shades, obviously impressed; traces his whiskers in mirth when Naruto dribbles the ball flawlessly and even tops it with a perfect throw into the hoop from end court. The glasses remedied the problem. A problem easily solved when Naruto owns up to it—though every teammate quirks a brow, at first struck at the sudden equipping of spectacles. They’ve never entertained the idea.

 

Kiba especially nudges Naruto in the side in bewilderment, however all confusion quickly settles to one feeling: unanimous appreciation. For as long as Naruto’s back in the play, fully functional, was all which mattered.

 

“Back in the game yo,” spins Bee, clapping and stomping, “everyone in previous formation, go!”

 

No words can describe the immense relief flooding through, to not be benched. Naruto swipes his brow, it took every ounce of pride to jump the hurdle. And he’s not sure what he’s embarrassed more of, his terrible rapping skills or the glasses.

 

“Since when, man?” asks Kiba in astoundment, during a huddle.

 

“Since, yesterday. My doctor just won’t let up,” he mutters, before chugging down a pint of Gatorade.

 

That’s when Kiba offers his signature sly grin. “You mean Tits McGee? The one I got my physical for lifeguarding last summer?” Kiba misses the way his friend falters. “I feel a little sick lately not gonna lie, so maybe she’ll work with me huh? I’ll tell her I wanna wear glasses too, they’re back in fashion, my sister’s doing it—kinda fucked up though.”

 

“Dude. She’s your grandma’s age—”

 

“Age is just a number, bro.”

 

“Besides the old hag’s outta town. She’s gamblin in Vegas.”

 

“So you switched physicians without me? We were gonna find a hot nurse together,” sputters Kiba shaking his head in grave disappointment. “I was gonna suggest you go for a brunette this time…slender legs, long hair past the shoulders, dark eyes, you know?”

 

Breath hitching too fast, Naruto ends up spitting out the last of his drink. Did Kiba know?

 

“W-what?”

 

“Relax, hell. I was kidding!” assures Kiba, patting his back. “Anyone hot would do of course. Just kidding again, dude. Seriously you’re on edge.”

 

“Me? On edge? Nah, you’re out your mind.”

 

Falling into the rhythm of dunking, jumping, and dribbling, Naruto feels his adrenaline taper off because realization dawns. When Sasuke’s not around, he couldn’t care less about what others think! It was Sasuke’s scrutiny, acknowledgment which held a fatal blade to his heart—his only rival and as long as _he’s_ not around—

 

“Oi…Naruto.”

 

Not that voice. Calling just loud enough, evoking slices of wind which prickle his skin.

 

In mid-air, launching a ball from his grasp, Naruto glances to the side. “Sasuke?!”

 

…is perched on one of those bleachers, sandwiched between two fan girls. Naruto could scarcely make out the expression in his best friend, couldn’t tell if the smirk was of derision or Sasuke’s regular serving of amusement.

 

And his heart seizes. He’s nearly pummeled to the floor in his stupor. And this is the way twenty dreadful minutes tick by, feeling Sasuke’s gaze scratch and scrape every inch of his flesh. Self-conscious is an understatement—how! How could he let his guard down? To let Sasuke see him this way. It’s too late for him to remove the glasses which was a joke last night, but in serious action today. Too late.

 

Every time a ‘ _shit, now what?’_ blasts through his mind, he glances nervously to the side, and Sasuke’s still smirking smartly at him.

 

Just damn it.

 

After the team-huddle, he parts from the rest, and Sasuke steps down from the bleachers to meet him halfway. Dressed in uniform, Sasuke makes sure to serve as a heavy contrast to his own sweat soaked jersey shirt and shorts.

 

“What are you doing here?” Naruto grits out. Hoping the other won’t point out the ridiculous thing on his face.

 

In fact, Sasuke’s discerning eyes never roam—only lips quirking ever slightly.

 

“I wanted to see you, obviously.”

 

“But you never show up to watch me practice.”

 

At this, a flash of challenge passes.

 

“So it wasn’t a toy for role-play,” says Sasuke lowly, “that much I’ve determined.”

 

Fanning himself, Naruto pulls at his collar. The spotlight blares. Oh hell how it blares, melting his flesh. And crimson heat dusts his cheeks, then to his ears.

 

“It wasn’t, because you were being a boring prick,” he volleys back.

 

“Because I refuse to play along with your charades? They were evidently real. What do you take me for? That I couldn’t see prescription lens when placed in front of me? And you called it a prop. I wasn’t going to play along with a stupid lie.”

 

Knife after knife, fuck. Naruto wishes he has a ball or something to squeeze to blunt the sudden wave of pain.

 

“The hell Sasuke, why didn’t you stop me? I turned into a tornado and ruined your whole room…hell…”

 

“And what happened to your usual brave self?” scoffs Sasuke. “Besides, I enjoyed torturing you just a little.”

 

Absently, they wander further and further back. Behind the gates, and in the parking lot, and then into a narrow strait between two buildings. Shadows and isolation.

 

“You mean you had a nice laugh when I left. I guess I deserve it, huh.”

 

The last syllable hitches when he’s shoved against the cold stone wall.

 

“I like it.” Sasuke’s voice drops, lost in a haze. “Your stupid antics, turn me on.”

 

“What? You mean—”

 

“And I like these little squares around your eyes. I lied, only to return the favor. I wasn’t going to reward you for being dishonest, was I?”

 

“No, no you’re right,” Naruto agrees shamelessly.

 

For Sasuke parts his legs with a bold knee. “Tell me straight. Because that wasn’t the only lie you dared to say last night.”

 

Heart’s yowling in his chest and he’s sure Sasuke picks up on the amplitude like a polygraph test attuning.

 

“Not sure what’s your angle.”

 

“Right before my brother walked in. You were saying…”

 

At the dumbfounded expression, Sasuke sinks in a feverish descent, pressing lips to the confused frown. Though the frown puckers as Naruto melds into the kiss, fervor transmitting perfectly when Sasuke’s hands knead. Steadily lower. An unexpected flick of his nipple, followed by an intense squeeze of both his pectorals forces a groan out of him, and the noise echoes in the little alley, nearly overcoming Sasuke’s encouraging whispers.

 

“You were saying you let someone else touch you like this?”

 

The moment he raises his fists, Sasuke pins it down.

 

“Did I? Huh!”

 

He wriggles for his arm, but Sasuke applies further force. “You can’t lie properly.”

 

“Lying’s never proper, S’uke.”

 

In between the sapping kisses, effectively tongue tying him, Naruto breathlessly admits.

 

“I’ve never actually, well—I think dirty, filthy thoughts all the time—but never actually…done…it.”

 

“Oh?”

 

He’s about to clobber his friend for the extremely generous response. Until Sasuke lowers his lips in a threatening gesture.

 

“What filthy thoughts, Naruto? Tell me.”

 

“Probably not a—” his breath catches mid-syllable.

 

He slumps back as a needy mouth latches to his sweat soaked neck, draining him of doubt. The musky scent of expensive cologne bombards his senses, and each bite wrecks him, all his fronts. He can’t help but snatch a handful of dark hair, breathing out Sasuke’s name, if they’d get caught here or not. But when his friend’s swelling lips suckle under his clenching jaw, a poorly restrained rumble of pleasure vibrates his whole being, and then Sasuke’s.

 

“Tell me. And I might just share my own collection of scenarios.”

 

“Ah—well—how about somewhere—ah—more private, y’know? I’d like to get a room for this.”

 

“Your house, tonight.”

 

In a surge of power, he flips them over, slamming Sasuke under him in a thud.

 

“Well you see, no. Not my house,” he says.

 

A runnel of sweat slips over a delicately raised brow. “And why not? I’ve let you in mine. It’s common courtesy to let your best friend visit your place of living from time to time.”

 

“Just not my house. I can’t.”

 

“And not mine either,” clips out Sasuke, narrowing his eyes. “Should my brother walk in again, I’ll lose it.”

 

“So find a hotel or something. I’ll meet you there.”

 

Clouds hover over the skeptical expression, as Sasuke considers with increasing agitation.

 

“I don’t understand why you’re being so difficult. Is there an actual reason?”

 

“Maybe I just know you’re not gonna like what you see.”

 

Sasuke flips them with vigor unmatched and dabbing a whisper into his ear, sends gust that has Naruto lurching forward, gripping for his life.

 

“Let me prove you wrong.”

 

Fists clench into self-destructive balls, nails digging.  “Tch! Now you’re gonna act as if you actually like my dump, just because you want _me_ in the wrong.”

 

Sasuke laughs. But the short clipped sounds…are restrained. And a part of him wants to shake Sasuke—violently—to get the whole batch of joy. Embrace the hell out of his friend, and rattle the wealth settled in the bottom, like a snowglobe with its confetti sleeping on the floor, why won’t it flutter to life? To fill him up and come alive again, just as Itachi’s generous, soaring laughter provided: a full, downpour deep and melodious. Yet Sasuke continues laughing, half-heartedly, and the snipped chuckles leaves him dry.

 

And like a vagrant, needy for mirth, for the unrestrained, he wants it all, to hear it all. He seizes his friend with resolve.

 

“Fine, come over. I’ll call you when you can.”

 

Sasuke stares discerningly, smirk faint and falling.

 

“Naruto…”

 

He can feel Sasuke silently questioning his pauses. And instead of annoyance, a deep look of despair begins to manifest in Sasuke.

 

“Do you doubt me?”

 

Weeks. Mere weeks out of a decade’s friendship finally turns into something…trembling, exquisite, and livelier. And what is he supposed to do?  Repel Sasuke before any of it should develop? Should he risk letting this new dimension created between them explode into visceral, irreconcilable differences? For what! He’s orphaned, and the dark little chambers of his shabby apartment are hollow vestiges of a former life—he’s sure Sasuke would never find them on equal footing. He’s sure of it.

 

Sasuke falls atop him, leaning heavily this time, grabbing him almost for support.

 

“Naruto…I have something to tell you. I—”

 

An alarm screeches: sirens cut their breaths, and they freeze together. Naruto’s phone buzzes like cicada in heat.

 

“Who’s calling you?”

 

Perhaps that sounded very possessive, but he scarcely notices. “It’s an alarm.”

 

“For?”

 

They’re both panting, from what? He hadn’t realized the tension or adrenaline until the interruption. But then his breath catches when he reads the reminder he set.

 

“Shit. I mean—goddamn it! An appointment—”

 

Sasuke’s hazy eyes clear up in narrowing pursuit. “For what?”

 

“You know, a seminar.” Pocketing his phone back into his shorts, he whirls forward. “Totally slipped my mind!”

 

“What seminar? Since when do you attend seminars?”

 

Naruto gulps, knowing how red with embarrassment he’s turning, what with Sasuke glaring. A military tank barreling straight at him wouldn’t be as threatening.

 

“Famous athletes coming into town. Y’know that kinda stuff,” he shrugs off. “Since I plan on being the best, I oughta go ahead and listen to the champs.”

 

Swears to hell and earth, a churning infection of regret swells. _Your brother Sasuke_ — _I promised to see him—_ he can’t move his mouth, to say these words. What is he doing? Waiting, that’s it, he’s waiting. He’ll see Itachi today, get things straightened out once and for all—and he’d never be in this awkward position again.

 

“But course…” Naruto murmurs, genuinely. “You’re more important.”

 

Much to his delight, he finds a subtle flush painted across pale, hollowed cheeks. Naruto sniggers teasingly before he kisses the red, licking like a pet, enjoying how Sasuke winces from ill-restrained pleasure. Right under his lips, can feel the grimace forming.

 

“Just go, moron.”

 

“Oh? But I like touching you.”

 

The pillaging kiss distracts, but not enough. For Sasuke swats his advances away sluggishly, as if it took extreme energy to do so.

 

“Go to your seminar. Hell knows when you’ll ever do anything studious again.”

 

Roaring in laughter, Naruto roughly nudges his friend. “Put it on the calendars, alright? It will be a special holiday.”

 

“I’ll drive you.”

 

He freezes. Laughter tapering off to drips of anxiety.

 

“Nah, I was gonna take the bus,” he dismisses. “Why?”

 

Fixing his tie, Sasuke wanders ahead. “So, I will walk you to the bus stop.” After a pause, the dark eyes narrow in humor. “Just what do you take me for? I enjoy every second of your company.”

 

“Sasuke—that’s—I gotta change first. You’ll actually wait?”

 

However, in that moment, a shimmer of paranoia flashes across Sasuke, threatening like a cobra’s tail arattle.

 

“I won’t stand around for more than ten minutes. Dillydally with your friends and I’ll be heading out.”

 

“ _Ten_ minutes?! But I wanna shower! Gimme fifteen, c’mon.”

 

Checking his wristwatch for emphasis, Sasuke looks up with little sympathy.

 

“Then I suggest you run now. I have a seminar to attend as well.”

 

.

-o-o

.

 

Hair’s soaking wet, and it feels so, so good.

 

Without drying completely, he rushes into dressing—stubbing a toe in the process. Goddamn it. Sasuke attends seminars? Since when? For what? He hadn’t even asked! And yanking the buttoned shirt over his head (he never unbuttons, but he should, it’s a terrible treatment to his small wardrobe), he blinks at the blurs. Just his glasses, the final piece.

 

He’s about to put them on, only for a speeding basketball to hit him square in the face.

 

Stumbling back, he clutches at his injury because by now, the hit pings directly into the circle of purple bruises, etched over his eyes. Bruises that have been accumulated from today’s consistent abuse.

 

“Oh shit! Shit Naruto—”

 

In fact his eyes tear up so much he couldn’t open them, not without the burning, stinging pain.

 

“What the hell…Kiba!” he grits out.

 

Vaguely he feels the winds of Kiba panicking around him. “Fuck man! I’m—I’m sorry. But wait—you could have caught that!”

 

All at once he’s sucked of breath. _Could have caught that_. But he _needed_ glasses now to do anything. He couldn’t drive now. Itachi was right, he couldn’t see at night even with glasses. And stumbling into the bathroom, he rinses out his eyes. They keep crying, and his heart flutters. Should his vision fail him right now, what would he do? How ungrateful had he been, not to acknowledge this problem sooner?

 

Cold water wash for five minutes, that will do the trick. Please do the trick.

 

When he finally quips his glasses, the air turns cold. A nervous chill settles. For he’s beyond peeved at the quality of vision, consisting of flickers of meaningless blurs. But slowly coming back, slowly his sights blossom to clarity.

 

.

-o-o

.

People around campus grounds throw glances over the shoulders. Naruto sprints like he’s about miss a life determining test, but instead…

 

“ _Sasuke don’t leave without me_!”

 

This stops the retreating figure cold in his tracks.

 

“Thirteen minutes, dead last. What happened to ten?”

 

Naruto doubles over, having finally caught up, panting out a whiplash of counters. Until he raises up his arm, pointing to the direction of his bus stop.

 

“Hey let’s get on this way, I’m taking the express to—”

 

However Sasuke steals his arm, firmly. And when he’s forced to look deeply into the other, he meets a growing sorrow.

 

“Why do you insist on taking the bus?” murmurs Sasuke, wrenching them closer. “Let me drive you, let me take care of you.”

 

Air sprinkles from lost oxygen in his system. Or was it the ailment of his eyes causing him to see halos around the shapes?

 

“I don’t want to burden you…Sasuke.”

 

“Stop saying that,” fires back Sasuke, giving another wrench. “You’ll never burden me. Because I…Naruto I—”

 

“ _Dango, korokke, crepes, gyoza! Hungry students come this way!_ ”

 

A stomach growls fiercely. Naruto realizes it’s his own…that’s right. He had no time to even grab a bite, just time to get hit in the face for two hours and shower. And absently he rubs his snarling tummy without breaking the contact of their gazes.

 

For this moment—after his stomach’s rude disruption—held his heart and whole being. The subtle halo round Sasuke’s form completely captivates, and he wonders if he could keep this special effect and do away with the blindness. Hell would finally give him a break then.

 

Naruto in turn grabs the arm, and they grip each other equally.

 

“What were you gonna say?” he prompts, feeling himself turn lighter. Feeling everything soar in anticipation, without noticing how violent his heartbeat drums.

 

The intensity escalates, as Sasuke glances to the side. A signal of escape.

 

“You haven’t eaten yet,” mutters Sasuke instead.

 

And the halo, the magnetizing silhouette fades. His sight’s settled to more normalcy, while Naruto sighs.

 

“So what you were gonna say, must be that gruesome to listen on an empty stomach?”

 

“Something like that.”

 

But he couldn’t read Sasuke, who brushes past.

 

He’s dying to know now! He chases after, only for a girl in costume to ring a bell in his face.

 

“Try my dad’s dango!” she insists.

 

“But—Sasuke—ah!”

 

Coerced into the street vendor’s selection—because it doesn’t take much convincing when it came to food—Naruto’s given a free sample.

 

“Well, boy?” queries the chef.

 

He’s so hungry anything tastes divine. And by the time Sasuke joins him at his side, he’s got a bite left.

 

“Try this dango, Sasuke. Tell me if you think it’s good.”

 

The second Sasuke puts a mouth to a piece of dough, a grimace contorts the otherwise elegant expression.

 

“Terrible,” is the whisper, only heard by Naruto.

 

With sudden enthusiasm, Naruto turns to the vendor. “I’ll buy two.”

 

“M-moron, I said it was—”

.

.

.

 

“Exquisite.”

 

Itachi’s eyes crease in delight. “How did you know I’d especially enjoy this?”

 

“Just a guess. So I surprised you?”

 

And the doctor looks ten years younger, with a stick of dango kebab tipping at the corner of a smirking mouth. Naruto watches with amusement and pride.

 

“In more ways than one,” answers Itachi.

 

At this, Naruto flicks his own barren skewer into the trash, turning on the other with a wrinkling nose.

 

“More than one way! How?”

 

“Well you caught me as I was leaving.”

 

They stand outside the front of the clinic, and Naruto notices the hour is only two. He looks on as Itachi takes his last bite, chewing almost imperceptibly. The man’s not in his white coat, instead in a single breasted suit, glancing away in thought, air turning distant and remote as if transported in a far dimension.

 

“Hey I know I’m late but…you usually leave this early?”

 

“Have to convince my colleagues and the committee to fund an upcoming project,” says Itachi, mulling aloud with most touchingly light cadences he’s ever heard. “They’re a skeptical lot. Yet I’m hopeful.”

 

Like a canon firing without being properly triggered, Naruto impulsively roars, “That’s right, don’t give up. Even if they give you a funny eye, don’t let that get in the way of your momentum.”

 

Suddenly he’s under the beam of intense scrutiny. He gulps. Especially as Itachi looks down intently, yet harboring an expression still full of distance as if torn between two states of mind. Naruto could see the border; the way tranquility muffles a chaos. Itachi whose heated gaze’s masked in a cloud of calm steam, yet Naruto sees all cold angles, the jaw tautening and even the finest muscles rippling in tension.  

 

At last in a drawl, Itachi breaks the quiet. “Did you put ice packs to your injury?”

 

Momentarily stupefied, Naruto blinks.

 

“What injury?”

 

The arrow of Itachi’s gaze points to under his eyes. And Naruto dabs lightly at his bruise, as if only now remembering its existence.

 

“Oh this? I was kinda stubborn at practice today,” he mumbles sheepishly. “Only at the very end, my coach wanted to bench me. But I wasn’t gonna give up my place on the court—like you said! Pride shouldn’t win sense, right? It’s all good rea—”

 

His heart roars in his ears. Itachi steals his elbow, untangling his arm, only to then take him by the wrist.

 

“Kind of stubborn, was it?” muses Itachi, leading them several paces.

 

They hit a stoplight and the red flashing brands into his mind, his cheeks. He sees enough. He didn’t need Itachi’s hand, but he’s letting. He shouldn’t let. Why is he thinking too much? People are seeing. Sasuke’d never even shake hands with him in public unless they’re in some alley way with no one around. And yet here he is, strung along, palms interlocked with Sasuke’s brother no less.

 

What is he doing? He absolutely should tear away!

 

But the warmth, he’s stumbled into a foreign warmth. And he feels so greedy, all of a sudden. He couldn’t for a second rip apart. Whatever heat Itachi harbors, transmits to his fingers and into his blood and he’d cling to it by instinct. If this ought to be so bad, then it wouldn’t feel right.

 

Ultimately, in the middle of this great internal debate, he’s paralyzed—and Itachi drives them in and out of a convenience store.

 

The bustling arrays of cityfolk meld into an absent buzzing mass. It is just this single bench, and this single bus stop, with Itachi pressing a pack of cold flame under his eyes.

 

“But your meeting!” he stammers out, mortified and struck.

 

“You’re a patient of mine. In desperate need because you’re ‘kind of’ stubborn.”

 

The ice delivers relief he didn’t even realize he so longed for. Pain he hasn’t acknowledged, numbing and fading.

 

“Thanks, doc,” he mumbles. But not for a split second does he blink.

 

“Physical trauma to the eyes can start a pressure build up,” says Itachi, gliding the ice subtly. “You absolutely must avoid unnecessary stresses.”

 

Naruto flushes, now self-conscious of every shiver and movement.

 

“I’m not droppin my team, if that’s what you’re getting at. Was just warmin up! Still need to accustom playing,” he scrunches his nose, “this way.”

 

In fact, his shivers worsen—because he’s a wild fellow, and if he’s nervous he spazzes. One time, for this reason he’d accidently hit Sasuke in the nose, and this very awkward habit could socially repel people, he knew. It’s unintentional, but violent.

 

And just when Itachi dabs and readjusts the icepack, Naruto scoots a little off edge and their knees brush. Conduits of the faintest spark jolt through his denim jeans, and lance up his whole leg, causing a jerk reflex.

 

Then he freezes over. The fact he falters so horribly only draws more attention, for Itachi lets a humming noise of what sounds to akin to bewilderment.

 

Quickly he wiggles back. “Doc, you must be god sent cause I’m seein a halo round you,” he jokes, _please distract_. “And I really don’t think that’s trauma related.”

 

Itachi’s brows quiver slightly in consideration. “Naruto-kun, I admire your ability to cope with humor. But tell me seriously, did such a symptom spring up after getting hit?”

 

“Used to just come and go, but now after this morning it’s just stickin round longer,” he breathes, in relief—thank hell—and glancing down for a moment.  “Why? I’m gettin worse?”

 

“You are. And the damage is irreversible, however you have precisely time to stop this.”

 

Unconsciously, he clenches up, molars grinding as if in resolve.

 

“How much more time do I have? Before I’m completely blind as a bat.”

 

“Why not come in for testing tomorrow?” returns Itachi, in that indisputable, silky voice. “We could then discuss properly, I wouldn’t have to give you guesses, but certainties.”

 

“I can’t.”

 

“Explain to me, then.”

 

Naruto shuffles under the blaring scrutiny. The spotlight returns tenfold. Testing with those high tech machines runs a bill well over the thousand, medicines prescribed not included, the actual surgeries would be completely out of his budget. Once, he actually looked this up, and turned pale, dizzy with the truth. Because he couldn’t even afford rent this month since the kitchen he worked at…fired him…for extreme clumsiness. For breaking plates on a constant basis, calling him an endangerment.

 

He just couldn’t deal with this right now. He’d get the dough for treatment soon, but now’s impossible. He’s still looking for new work so he’ll save up.

 

“I can’t because—because I…I just, you know, I—”

 

“Is it money?”

 

When it’s actually said, the words sound so revolting. Leaving a foul taste on his palate. Money! The simple, repulsive answer’s out in the open, and so much shame fills Naruto in that moment he darts his eyes frantically around before completely pulling away.

 

“No! Of course not!”

 

“If it’s money, we’d figure something to meet your needs. You shouldn’t defer this anymore.”

 

“Figure something—you mean what?”

 

Itachi sets the ice packs aside, lips quirking into a familiar, knowing smile.

 

“Naruto-kun perhaps it’s best if you let me speak with your guardian, since you’re evidently uncomfortable.”

 

The idea of Itachi or Sasuke making contact with his former foster parent—sends him shuddering inside.

 

“What gives, doc,” he laughs defensively. “I’m comfortable, alright? Live on my own. And that guy on my file, he’s no guardian anyhow—wouldn’t give two hoots if I’m blind, deaf, or mute. Or all three at once for that matter! So just give it to me straight, I’m not a kid.”

 

It was as if Itachi had purposefully riled him up, scarcely hiding the smirk.

 

“Well I asked my secretary today what your insurance was. But you have none. Sasuke also tells me you work part-time in between school, and you told me you live alone.” And without once fluttering with doubt, Itachi continues placidly, “Considering your situation, and you’re my little brother’s best friend, I would waive everything under certain conditions. You’d be a special case of mine.”

 

At first he only hears Itachi’s voice, playing perfectly smooth, buttery and comforting.

 

But then the meaning registers. And a whole avalanche of his racing heart practically has him yelling.

 

“Waive everything!” he retorts hotly. He tries to calm the voracious drumming of his pulse, but his mouth is on a rampage. “That just—you mean—you’d pay for it all. I can’t accept that.”

 

“Why won’t you accept it?”

 

 _Won’t_ , not _can’t_. Naruto doesn’t miss the change. He shoots up, only for Itachi to join him in standing, soon towering over him unwaveringly and under a veil of unerring calm.

 

“Because I wouldn’t be able to pay you back, that’s why. Not anytime soon at least. I don’t even have a job at the moment—I actually didn’t quit…just that I wasn’t wearing my glasses at the time…and…”

 

Itachi raises a hand, as to gesture for quiet. “You wouldn’t need to pay me back. As I said, I want you under my care, you’d be my unique case.”

 

“But even if I was ‘special’ somehow, I can’t just accept all that help for free!” returns Naruto, fiercely, hoping to pierce Itachi’s shroud of confidence. “When I have enough saved up, I’ll come back. If you’d still wanna help me, that is.”

 

The long pause of silence unleashes hounds of guilt unto Naruto. Itachi offered him free treatment and care—and what does he do? He snapped…like a savage. Hell, he just lost it. No one’s ever put thought into helping him this much. Seems too good to be true and almost nightmarishly teasing: how he feels so tempted to accept, ride the wave of relief, only to be snatched in the undertow, drown into reality.

 

He inhales, meaning to apologize, only for Itachi to gently tap his shoulder in slow assuring strokes. Immediately the gesture shushes his stuttering lips and the internal riptide threatening to rip him in two.

 

“You haven’t even heard my stipulations, Naruto-kun,” says the doctor, deep voice kindling in humor.

 

Naruto must have bowed his head low enough for the glasses fall to the bridge of his nose. Although it’s Itachi who adjusts the frames for him, carefully raising a slender finger and lightly propping it back.  So hyperaware, so surreally sensitive, Naruto feels the hand graze his cheek when the other retracts away. Like a brush of feathers the contact leaves a slicing tingle and his mouth turns dry.

 

Licking his lips, he mumbles, “What kinda stipulations?”

 

“Foremost of all, it involves a personal project of mine.”

 

Naruto holds his breath, tipping wholly forward as if to catch the next words better.

 

“I thought for the longest of abandoning,” says Itachi, “but after the one evening, you reminded me of it. And I realized you could help me a great deal.”

 

A taxi blares its horns. The sudden shrill has Naruto jumping, hell. How deep does he sink into every beat of this moment, for he feels the scruff of his neck bristle in freezing anticipation, and he wipes at his brow, smudging the runnel of sweat. Nonetheless his pulse thrums madly in excitement as though he revives to life at the idea he could be useful, especially to this man. He longs to dump his gratitude into something of action, rather than measly thank yous.

 

“Personal project huh? Another experiment?!” he jostles humorously. “I make an excellent guinea pig, huh! Fine—still I’d help ya with that, sure doc! But I’d do it without taking this— _waiver_ , you already did so much for me.”

 

Itachi frowns, and even diplomacy withers into urgent intonations. “Your help outweighs any amount of money. For me at least.”

 

However, Naruto shakes his head. Firmly repeating, “I just can’t take more, not unless I knew I could pay you ba—”

 

“If you’re this concerned with paying me back,” dwindles Itachi into impatience, already fanning his hands in an annoyed gesture. “I have a job opening. Not in the clinic, but for grant work involving my research.”

 

Naruto’s eyes widen, uncurling his fists. Working for Itachi would reduce the burden, lessen the debt.

 

“Really? But I don’t really know anything about biology or scientific stuff! I can still apply?”

 

“You can use a computer and you can read, correct? That’s all I require.”

 

Not to mention, being unemployed as he is, the prospect of _any_ work lifts his spirits up. And—he hasn’t told anyone yet—but he adopted a kitten (homeless and helplessly limping in starvation in front of his building). And he’s been taking care of Kurama, he called it. Sasuke would label him weak, soft. Especially if anyone found out he teared up last night cuddling in happiness with a _kitten_.

 

He doesn’t want to ever stoop so low he couldn’t feed himself or his new pet.

 

“You’d be my boss? Where should I apply?” murmurs Naruto, flushing. At least an upgrade of a boss too, or would Itachi be a slave driver like his former employer? “Or do I need to go get interviewed by someone else.”

 

The third bus this hour swoops to a stop in front of them.

 

And Itachi plans to board this one but not before explaining, “You know where I live, Naruto-kun. Come tonight for your interview, say seven. If you have trouble with this time, simply message me, though let’s tend to this sooner or later.”

 

When Itachi smiles encouragingly, Naruto feels his muscles twitch out of control. He beams at the doctor, returning the gesture. And he smiles so freely, so lucently that some sunlight traps between them, a ray of gold bouncing back endlessly and ever growing.

 

 -

-o-o-

-

 

He nearly spammed Itachi’s phone with stupid questions. But he’d erase everything before hitting send.

 

No need to kill his interview before it starts, he tells himself.

 

Though questions, as if he’s overthinking flare up one after the other. Should he bring anything? An actual resume? Should he dress up formally? And then he realized…Sasuke. What does he tell Sasuke? Keep this secret or—

 

Shit. Naruto paces round, blocks away. A safe, hidden distance from the Uchiha residence. He ended up dressing business casual, just in case Itachi planned to take them to an office even though the hour’s late. And he brought his useless resume too. But now he’s unsure. Anyone who’d glance at his transcript, grades, or resume would not hire him for…just what kind of work was this?

 

When he breathes, charging the door like a warrior, in a tie and suit…

 

Entry parts open, as Sasuke pops out. In stupor.

 

“Naruto?”

 

“Hey!”

 

Shit, it’s a good thing he prepared for this. Although he wished Itachi answered, or what if Itachi’s not home? But it’s 6:50, and—oh hell, as long as Sasuke lets him in.

 

Except Sasuke only stares, dark eyes flashing with shock.

 

“What are you doing here? Dressed so well.”

 

“Oh? You like?” he teases, hiding how miffed he is at Sasuke’s reaction. As if he’s never dressed well! “I was just gonna take us to the opera, because that’s what good boyfriends do. So c’mon, let me in while I wait for you to dress up so we can go. But don’t spend too much time on your hair, we gotta leave in fifteen!”

 

A derisive scoff skips past the other. “You know I despise surprises.”

 

Nonetheless, Sasuke lets him in and offers a place on a cozy divan.

 

“Naruto, if you wanted to…” begins Sasuke, voice trembling with husky curiosity. “You said you’d call me over.”

 

“That’s right,” nods Naruto, glancing into his palms. Seriously not wanting to have to look at Sasuke’s next reaction.

 

“Why did you come here then?”

 

“Well you see. I know this is gonna sound funny. And you’ll laugh—maybe this is—” _a prank on me_ , “alright. Thing is, I’m not really here for you. You know I miss you and all that sweet stuff, but I’m actually here for an interview!”

 

Sasuke drops beside him, glaring and eyes wildly searching. “An interview.”

 

The robotic echo actually startles Naruto, and he jabs at Sasuke’s kidney. But his friend sits like he’s made out of stone, unflinching.

 

“Hey don’t turn into the terminator on me,” he chuckles nervously. “I found out your brother’s hiring, and yeah he said he’d interview me.”

 

“Hiring for what? Since when—I thought you already had a job—and he told _you_ he needed help?”

 

Missing the darkness flitting in the other, Naruto says, “You know when Itachi—” he’s not going to admit it was today. “When he drove me home that night. He said he needed help with uh—his paper work. I think that’s what he said.”

 

Before Sasuke could steal them into an embrace, into an interrogation, the sounds of footsteps cut in.

 

Itachi treads down the stairs, laptop tucked under his arm. “Naruto-kun, come with me.”

 

Like a bolt of lightning, Sasuke leaps in between. A volatile, combustible wall. Refusing Naruto to pass, and refusing Itachi’s questioning gaze.

 

“What is the meaning of this, aniki?”

 

 


End file.
